Endgame
by SeeKayO.o
Summary: Set post Brisingr. Some stories have happy endings. Some stories have sad endings. True stories never end, there is only the next chapter. Join us as the next chapters in the Inheritance Cycle come into being. And yes, I use punctuation.
1. Foreword

FOREWORD

Well hello there! I see you have stumbled upon my humble story. First of all: "Welcome!". Thank you very much for giving me a page view =). Secondly, this is not completely my own work. Much editting and some of the story has be done co-written by one Saiyuki Tasuke (who incidently should actually be studying for her final exams as opposed to helping me, but I'm not complaining much). So come along with Saiyuki and I as we explore the fascinating world of Alagaesia alongside Eragon and Arya, as they fight against the tyranny of the evil fella that CP has strangely named "Galbatorix". I mean honestly, what kind of name is "Galbatorix"? Sounds weirder everytime you say it... Galbatorix, Galbatorix, Galbatorix GALBAFREAKINGTORIX? What a crazy name.

Oh please don't run! I promise to behave from now on! And if I don't I do believe that Saiyuki will be more than happy to keep me in line, won't you dear? –dodges a swinging fist-

See?

Before anything, I'd like to take a serious moment to give a shoutout to my one and only XiaoMei who is the one I truly write for. Thank you for all the support and inspiration that you have provided for me, and I'm glad you're my little sister =)

Firstly I don't believe in all this guide to reading my story stuff. The most advise I can give is use your common sense. Sometimes _italics_ will be used to show use of the ancient language, sometimes it will be used to show sarcasm or the like. Eg- Very impressive _Shur'tugal _vs _Reduce the magic constricting Saphira and I!_. Savvy? Same with **bolding** and underlining use your logic and you should be understand it. Easy as 1, 2, 3! Or pie! Or pi? 3.141592654...?

As for frequency of updates... It is difficult to give you a time. Saiyuki is in fact almost as busy as me. She's got her final exams... and I've got... stuff? Yeah! Stuff! Ergo: the frequency of updates is directly proportional the amount of motivation/inspiration I/Sai have. How can you help? Review of course! I'm not going to be begging you for reviews at the end of each chapter. I'll leave all the begging to Saiyuki! Good doggy =D. (Yuki: did you just imply I was a bitch?) But yes, reviews always go a long way to seeing a story through to completion. This will be a fairly lengthy story, at least I hope so, so show your support for us and leave your own prints on the story by reviewing! Constructive criticism or even just a review to say, HI I'M READING THIS SO WRITE MORE KTHX is most welcome.

DISCLAIMER: As I said to my partner in crime, F%$&*#)%$# the disclaimer. If anyone honestly thinks this is worth sueing, I'll take that as a compliment. Seriously, they'd only want to sue me if they actually thought that this dribble of mine is half decent. Which I shall leave you to decide. In any case I hardly believe CP is going to be strolling through FFnet looking for stories to go "BAM HAHAHAHA SUED YOU MOTHER$#)*%_$#!". And if he is, I SAW IT FIRST!

More about the story. This one is ARYAcentric, with obviously bits of Eragon and other less significant characters. Yes Arya is my favourite. I wish I had an Arya. Yes I want an Arya for christmas. And my birthday, and easter. Chocolate Arya? Arya for valentines day? Arya is the best. End. of. story! Ahh shutup Saiyuki I can see you rolling your eyes. As for pairings... apart from the one already listed, I'm pretty meh about the rest of them, maybe I'll let you guys decide along the way. If any of you feel particularly strongly about a particular pairing then tell me... somehow... stalking my facebook, email and IP address not quite appreciated =O.

That's all from me for now, I leave you over to the perpetually PMSing hands of one strangely twisted Saiyuki Tasuke. Thanks for reading my story!

-SeeKay.

Yuki: Whut... I'm not that violent. Really, I'm not. D:  
No... my fingers aren't crossed. Well, maybe a little. Credits 99% to Seekay, have funn!

SeeKay: THAT'S A CAPITAL 'K' TO YOU! -glare-

Yuki: Wow, I honestly didn't notice... See_kay_. (I find your attempt at glaring amusing.)


	2. Season's Passing

A/N:

SeeKay: Late happy birthday to LISA QIU! You're the best! Love you heaps! For you sicko's out there, SHE'S MY LITTLE SISTER. And for you extra sicko's out there, No. Just no. Enn Oh. NO.

Am I really sick for even considering the possibility that such sicko's exist? Should I stop rambling on about random stuff? Yeah... probably...

Anyway yep. This chappy is written in your honour little one. I couldn't give you the birthday present you wanted... yet... but I will. Promise. But for now, this is all for you.

-Big E-hug- ^_^"(Y)"

What's this...

Wild "OMG LETS START THE FREAKING STORY" Appeared!

...

* * *

Chapter 1:

_The following is an extract from "Brisingr"._

[Eragon gazed down at the Eldunarí that lay covered within his arms and felt a rush of sympathy and protectiveness toward the dragon who was trapped inside the heart of hearts. He hugged the stone closer to his chest and laid a hand upon Saphira, grateful for their companionship.

_We can do this,_he thought._Galbatorix isn't invulnerable. He has a weakness, and we can use that_

_weakness against him. . . . We can do this _.

_We can, and we must,_said Saphira.

_For the sake of our friends and our family—_

—_and for the rest of Alagaësia—_

—_we must do this._

Eragon lifted Glaedr's Eldunarí over his head, presenting it to the sun and the new day, and he smiled, eager for the battles yet to come, so that he and Saphira might finally confront Galbatorix and kill the dark king.]

* * *

The rising of the sun gave birth to a new beginning, a new day, and a promise of future. But today as the sunlight revealed what the darkness of night concealed, such optimism was groundless. Bodies upon bodies littered the desolate battlefield, their uniforms shredded and stained with the blossom of a dark and gruesome flower. As Eragon walked amongst the crowd of the celebrating Varden, a sense of hopelessness enveloped him. The heavy weight of the fallen and the pointlessness of the bloodshed was a burden to his already exhausted shoulders.

_Saphira?_

_Yes, little one?_

_What is the point of all this?_

_Of what?_

Eragon gestured to the innumerable corpses littering the streets of Feinster.

_War. Killing. What purpose does it serve? So many people die believing in a madman. Are they so blind they cannot see the misery and suffering he causes? And even if they cannot, why must all conflict be resolved through bloodshed? Surely there must be another way._

_You are growing Eragon. Your words speak much for how you have matured. Perhaps you are right. But this is not an ideal world. Another time, another place, and maybe we could end this without the stain of blood on our claws. Remember what we fight for and who we are fighting. Galbatorix is hardly one to stop all this madness just for the sake of sparing a few lives. This war is forced upon us. Consider the consequences if we choose not to fight. Who would battle Murtagh and Thorn? Humans on horses? Dwarves on their ponies? We are the last free dragon and rider in this age of darkness. Whilst we have no choice but to fight, we can choose why we do it, and we can choose when to stop. This is what separates us and the Empire. When the Varden are victorious then perhaps we can lay down our sword and live a life of peace, but until then you should not question the need for this war._

_You are right on all but one point._

_Hmm?_

_There is no victory in war._

_Wise words, little one. You are indeed growing._

Saphira snorted.

_But I think this one begs to differ._

Eragon looked up to see a figure dressed in tightly-fitting black leather approaching him with cat-like grace. The scent of crushed pine needles teased him. He walked forward to meet her, twisting his hand over his sternum in the Elven manner of greeting.

"Shadeslayer."

"Shadeslayer."

Said exchange had become the normal words of greeting between Arya and Eragon: they were after all, the only ones in this age to share the particular feat of shade slaying. It was their own peculiar method of maintaining a much needed informality in their strange and mismatched friendship. Arya was the stern, proud ambassador of the Elves. Her emerald eyes had seen everything from the dungeons of Uru'baen to the vast green forests of Ellesméra. She had already witnessed the chill of over a hundred winters. Eragon was a strange conjunction of man and elf. Having only lived for sixteen summers, Eragon had yet to see the many cities of Alagaësia and struggled to remember the names of at least half. One would think that such binary opposites would never get along, yet over time, a strong bond had formed, born out of the mutual need for friendship if nothing else.

The edges of Arya's lips curved upwards for a split second before she said, "Eragon, Nasuada requires our presence in another council of war."

Eragon groaned inwardly. Less than 24 hours had passed since the successful capture of Feinster, but already Nasuada was making plans for the future of the Varden. He knew that appearances must be kept, that the people must see the Dragon Rider as an embodiment of their hope but he spent most of the meeting conversing with Saphira in his mind, and practicing the well honed art of sleeping with his eyes open. It was as if an official decision could not be made without his presence.

"Oh the joys of being a Rider," Eragon responded with a sigh.

"It is a responsibility that many would gladly carry," Arya admonished stiffly.

"Aye, I seem to be responsible for everything else that happens in the Varden as well."

"Would you rather be a mere foot soldier, forgotten the moment you fall in battle? Just another casualty? Or even if you lived, your remaining time would be spent preparing for the next battle. A repetitive cycle which inevitably leads to death. I would agree that these meetings are often wearisome but at the very least you have a voice that people will listen to, if you just choose to use it. It is important that we are prepared and ready to move onwards. Galbatorix will not wait for us to decide where we next wish to attack. "

"I am diminished by your words Lady Dröttningu."

"I am being serious Eragon!"

"Which explains why you are staring into space every time I happen to glance at you during these so called important meetings."

"Do you have nothing more interesting to look at?"

Eragon considered the members of the Council of Elders and glanced back at Arya.

"Not particularly."

Arya quickly glanced around them to see if anyone was paying them any notice, before moving forward till she was standing mere centimetres away from Eragon. Their faces were close enough to feel the others' breath on their cheeks. She gently reached out and grasped the neck of his shirt, holding him firmly in place. The movement was unneeded. Eragon was already standing stock-still; her proximity had frozen him in place.

"Eragon..."

She could see he had his complete attention. Daringly, she moved her head forward, her forehead a mere hair's width from his. His blue eyes were wide as they met hers. She lifted her right leg, gently stroking his shin as she did so.

"You should not..."

She could feel his breath quicken, not quite panting, but fast approaching it.

His voice was almost a whisper.

"Should not?"

With a misleading smile, she rapidly slammed her foot down on his with as much force as she could without breaking it. With a yelp, Eragon's unmoving state was suddenly transformed into the embodiment of movement: he hopped around on one foot, his hands cradling his other in visible pain.

Arya burst out into musical laughter.

"You should not mock me so Eragon. It could prove... detrimental to your health."

Eragon bounced around desperately clutching his foot, trying to soothe the hurt. Despite the pain, he found himself trying not to laugh with Arya. Such occasions to hear her openly expressing such amusement, were becoming rarer by the day, and he welcomed this one despite his rapidly swelling toes. Arya reached out a hand; an unspoken offer to steady his undignified balancing act. Gratefully, he reached out for it only to find it quickly withdrawn. Too late he realised the trap; the weight that would have been supported by her hand immediately overbalanced him and for the first of what would be many times today, he found himself experiencing the unique flavour of dirt.

Stifling a final chuckle, Arya walked towards Eragon's crumpled figure, reaching under his shoulder to pull him up.

"Come great Shadeslayer, we can continue our conversation on the way. The meeting takes place in an hour on the other side of the city so we will have much time to discuss your new found disability."

_I must remember to make a fairth of this._

* * *

Arya and Eragon walked in silence through Feinster's empty streets. The early hours of the day combined with the natural timidity of Feinster's citizens due to the aftermath of the invasion made for a quiet morning. Arya's earlier humour had faded, her face once again set in an emotionless mask. Eragon on the other hand was still bemoaning his unfortunate start to his day, his aching toes a constant reminder of the risks of mocking not just a female, or even a female elf, but Arya in particular. Nonetheless he was glad to see a sliver of a different Arya. Perhaps, an Arya from her past. One willing to laugh and smile without fear of judgement. He made a silent vow in the privacy of his own mind, to make an effort to draw out that Arya again, providing he had the means and the time.

_Then make the time, little one._

Maybe not so private a mind.

_I am not sure how she would react to my constant efforts to amuse her. Our relationship is already tenuous at best, and I would not push her for fear of misinterpretation._

"Eragon."

"Yes, Arya svit-kona?"

Arya raised an eyebrow at his formal tone.

"Have we not discussed the use of formalities? Or shall I have to remind your other foot as well?" she suggested dryly.

"I believe that your rapid and hateful act of violence was completely unjustified. "

"Unjustified?" Arya responded lifting her foot once again.

"Ah, perhaps we can discuss the justice of this matter another time."

"You are wiser than you look, Shur'tugal."

"My thanks for your kind words, but did you wish to say something to me?"

Arya's face tightened and closed, the brief flicker of amusement in her eyes fading as it did so.

"Eragon. I would ask you not to think too much about our previous… embrace. I... was not myself."

Eragon watched as her eyes averted from him, her back straightening into a stiff board.

"It should not have occurred."

"Of course, Arya. It is of no consequence."

And just like that the pregnant silence that so often intruded on their discussion reasserted itself. Conversations such as these had become the norm as time passed between them. Brief exchanges of jests and jokes: they tilted on the edge of dangerous territory before inevitably returning once more to formality and tentative friendship.

Arya nodded: a bird-like gesture that only served to highlight their differences yet again.

"I believe Nasuada wishes to discuss how quickly we are to move on Belatona. It is no small responsibility to decide how much time is required for the soldiers to recover. We must simultaneously take advantage of our momentum. Galbatorix must not have time to regather his troops."

"I see."

"Indeed, it would be wise to take Belatona sooner rather than later. Its positioning with its back to the head of the river with mountains to the west means that it doubles as a highly defensible fortress and also as a frequented trading post."

"Is that so?"

"I would also like to invite you to my bedchambers later tonight to undergo some strenuous exercise," she replied dryly.

"Understood."

Arya muttered a quick word under her breath.

"Eragon your pant leg is on fire."

"I agre- WHAT?"

"The price of not paying attention Shadeslayer," said a smirking Arya as she watched Eragon once again bouncing around trying to douse the greedy flames. Arya allowed herself a small smile to join Saphira's roars of laughter in the background.

"Eragon."

"WHAT?"

"You are a rider."

"If that is all you have to say I would kindly remind you that a pair of my favourite pants are on fire, courtesy of you."

"Eragon."

"For god's sake what is it?"

"You can use magic can you not? I would advise you to do so, sooner rather than later. Of course you are free to continue with your current course of action but it is most unseemly to see our last and only remaining rider hopping around like a one-legged headless chicken."

"BARZUL! _Adurna_!"

His flaming pant leg was immediately soaked, leaving only the sorry charred remains. Cursing under his breath, Eragon looked up to see Arya barely holding in a smile.

"Are you quite done, _Shur'tugal_?"

Grumbling, Eragon stalked away without another word.

"Eragon. I do believe Nasuada's chambers are in this direction," said Arya, pointing in the opposite direction to that which Eragon had immediately planned to take. However, this time it was Eragon that was smirking.

"I'm aware of that."

Arya responded with an inquiring glance. Eragon answered by jumping onto the roof of a nearby house and leaping onto a swooping sapphire-coloured dragon with a gleeful cry.

"Enjoy the meeting Arya _Svit-Kona."_

_Thank you Saphira._

_My pleasure, little one. Where do we go?_

_Wherever the wind takes us._

With a roar of satisfaction, Saphira soared away into the empty blue sky, leaving a petulant yet slightly amused elf standing on her own in an equally empty city.

_Eragon will pay._

* * *

Arya walked up to the meeting chapters. The Urgal bodyguards immediately recognising her, knocked as politely as they could manage on the wooden door.

"Lady Arya, ambassador of the elves is here Lady Nightstalker."

"Send her in."

An Urgal pulled the door open for her, nodding as she walked by. Inside, sat the familiar faces of those who had attended the last meeting, and all the others before it: Nar Garzhvog of the Urgals, King Orrin and his courtiers, who positioned themselves opposite Nasuada; Narheim, the dwarf ambassador who had assumed Orik's duties since Orik left for Farthen Dûr; Jörmundur; and the other members of the Council of Elders.

"Ah, Arya it is good that you have arrived, you are not yet late. We were just discussing-"

Nasuada paused to give her a puzzled expression.

"Where is Eragon? Were you not getting him yourself?"

"I did, my Lady. However, he and Saphira decided to go on an... impromptu excursion of sorts."

Nasuada merely raised an eyebrow in question.

"He jumped on Saphira and flew away laughing."

To Arya's surprise, Nasuada chuckled.

"It is of no concern Arya. Eragon and Saphira have had a trying few days, and if it is not clear already, he rarely pays attention to these councils. I'm fairly certain we can form a suitable plan of action without his input."

* * *

Saphira glided effortlessly through the vacant skies, high enough to be mistaken for a bird if seen from below. On her back, Eragon lazed around in the saddle, breathing in the clear, cool air. Their minds, for the first time since the siege of Feinster, lay completely open to one another: thoughts and emotions flowed freely through their mental link. Eragon stretched his arm up and let his fingers trail through the clouds leaving ribbons of wisps behind. He was content to have this moment: free from the pressures of duty and expectation, if only for a few hours.

_Saphira._

_Mmh?_

_I'm getting a bit… bored_. Eragon grasped Saphira's neck spike tightly in anticipation.

_About time._

With a joyful roar, Saphira's leathery wings snapped shut, and she plummeted towards the earth at breakneck speed. Eragon clung to Saphira tightly with his thighs and released the spike. He flung his arms in the air and whooped gleefully. Sapphire scales sparkled brilliantly in the noon sun as she spiralled towards the earth, faster than any eagle or gyrfalcon.

_Ready?_

_Always._

_Brace yourself!_

Her wings snapped open, and she roared in effort to pull out of the dive. Gravity slammed Eragon's face into the scales of Saphira's back as she lost speed. For half a minute he was unable to sit upright, and Saphira fought with all her might to stop their rapid descent. Finally the pressure lessened. Dragon and rider once again soared away.

_Now THAT was fun!_

_Indeed, little one. It was worth it, despite how much it will hurt tomorrow morning._

_When we get back, I will rub warm water and oil into your joints._

Saphira hummed in pleasure.

_When this war is over, perhaps we shall spend an ample amount of time flying for as long as we wish. We shall land only when it pleases us and go wherever we set our hearts upon without any fear of observation or capture. _She said gleefully.

_Aye, with only the clouds, the stars and each other for company. We shall be free to visit whomever we wish. No one shall rule us._

_Free to see the parts of Alagaesia as it can only be seen from the skies._

_A future truly worth dreaming of. _Eragon mused.

_A future worth fighting for. _Saphira responded savagely.

_Aye._

Eragon was surprised to sense some sadness trickling through their bond.

_What is wrong, Bjartskular?_

_I only wish…_

Saphira's thought faded into silence.

_What is it Saphira?_

The great sapphire dragoness hesitated.

_I wish… we could bring back the times of old._

_What are you saying?_

_I am the last free dragon in existence, who still wields claws and fang. I shall only feel a true sense of belonging when flying through the air alongside other dragons._

_Did you not do so with Glaedr?_

_Our time spent together was far too short. We had no time for such fancies. Every moment we flew in the air together, we were practicing battle manoeuvres or doing exercises to improve my agility and mastery of flight. We had no such opportunity._

Eragon mentally visualised the magnificence of such a sight: a fleet of dragons breezing through the skies, their luminescent scales shimmering rainbow colours in the sunlight.

_Truly, that would have been a sight to see._

_But now I am the last. I will never find a mate, nor experience the true feeling of belonging. The elves call me Queen of the skies, but in this land, amongst the birds, deer, rabbits and fish, I am the stranger. _Brooded Saphira.

_What of the last egg? What of the tales of wild dragons?_

_What of them?_

_Do not give up hope friend-of-my-heart. The last egg may yet be captured, and with a little bit of luck, perhaps it will hatch. It is a male is it not? Males grow and develop faster than females, albeit clumsier. And if that solution is not available to us, you and I will go searching for the wild dragons of old. You may not be destined to solitude forever. There is still a chance. We must always keep hope; lest we fall into pits of despair and be useless to all who need us. And you are wrong. You are never alone. We will always have each other._

_Little one. _Saphira responded gratefully. _Ah, you are no longer the farm boy who tried to convince Sloan to buy my egg in Caracal._

Eragon chuckled.

_I suffer from an ailment known as ageing. It is a fairly common disease or so I've heard._

Saphira snorted in response.

_Ah but what of you, Eragon?_

_What of me?_

_You are alone as I am. You are half-human, half-elf, and not even through birth. No one in all of Alagaesia is like you. Together, we are perhaps two of the loneliest individuals in all of Alagaesia. There are many females of your original kind who would willingly mate with you. Why do you choose to remain aloof? I can feel your loneliness when you lie awake in bed at night. You shouldn't torment yourself so, and I would never choose a mate if you could not have one either._

Eragon felt a familiar heat flooding his cheeks at Saphira's lack of inhibition, and an even more familiar ache rising in his chest.

_You know there is only one, Saphira._

He felt Saphira send a silent thought of acknowledgement.

_But as I have said before, we are not alone so long as we have each other. I will endure, and I will survive. We have more pressing matters for now._

With a start, Eragon realised how much time had passed whilst they had been conversing in the air. The sun had already set and the stars had begun appearing one by one in the fading light.

With a smile he said. _Perhaps the soldiers of the Empire will see us flying back to Feinster and think us a shooting star on which to make a wish upon. Wouldn't that be ironic?_

_They will all burn. _Saphira growled.

_Yes. _Eragon thought grimly. _They will._

_

* * *

_

"That will conclude our meeting for today," Nasuada announced as she willed her head to stop aching. She reached over to her table to grasp her cup of cool water and took a sip.

A silent sigh of relief seemed to emanate through the gathered council. Although none of them physically moved, they appeared to mentally slouch and slump forward as they relaxed. All except Arya of course, whose bearing was as stiff and rigid as always.

Nasuada swallowed another mouthful before continuing.

"It has been a long day, and I am certain you are tired of hearing my voice and studying the unique patterns on the walls. Go to your troops, and try and speed their recovery. They must be ready when we finalise our plans for Beltana."

Her dark eyes shifted to glance at the vacant seat.

"Thank you all for attending. Dismissed."

The council rose and began to shuffle out. A few bowed while others favoured her with a polite "By your leave my Lady" as they filed out through the door. Just as Arya was about to slip out, Nausea's voice rang out from behind her.

"Arya, could you please remain a moment?"

She turned, and to her surprise, Nasuada was slumped in her chair, looking thoroughly exhausted. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and her black skin was a touch paler. She returned to her seat and ignored the inquisitive glances of those leaving. Once the room vacated, she immediately rose to face Nasuada.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Oh there is no need to by so formal Arya. I only wanted to ask if you would inform Eragon of today's talks. I would do so myself but-" said Nasuada as she waved a hand up and down her figure. "As you can see, I am far too tired. Besides he could be anywhere with Saphira, and I cannot seek his mind as you can."

Arya raised an eyebrow.

"If that was all you wished to see me about, you could have spoken before everyone. What is it that you truly require?"

Nasuada smiled faintly.

"Nothing slips pass you does it? Very well. I wished to ask: how is Eragon? After he informed us of his teacher's passing at the hand of his half-brother, he and Saphira have not been themselves."

Arya stiffened. "Do not overestimate the extent of our relationship my Lady. I doubt my knowledge of his mental wellbeing would exceed that of Erik or Roran or most members of the council."

"How long are you going to continue to blind yourself?"

Before Arya could retort, Nasuada put a hand up.

"Forgive me; my fatigue has gotten the best of me. I apologise, I meant no offence."

Once again, Nasuada continued before Arya could respond.

"But are you certain you are unaware of this? I have no doubt that save Saphira, there is no one else he trusts more than you. Not even his own cousin."

"Trust and friendship are two very different things Nasuada."

"But neither are they mutually exclusive. You are, by far, his closest friend who does not swallow sheep whole or roast cattle by breathing blue flames."

"I believe you are mistaken."

Nasuada studied her for a moment, but then looked away and sighed wearily.

"Perhaps Arya. It is not my place to debate the terms of your friendship, nor is it any business of mine what relation you have with our rider. I am merely concerned about him. He has much on his shoulders for one so young, even by our human standards."

Arya's passive face betrayed no response.

"Of course my Lady. Will that be all?"

Nasuada waved a tired hand dismissively.

"Yes, you are dismissed. But please, do not forget to speak to Eragon."

Arya nodded once and gracefully walked out.

Arya slipped away from the meeting chambers, slightly irritated that night had already arrived, and that her entire day had been spent cooped up with many politicians. Quick, graceful steps took her across the camp towards Eragon's tent. She ignored the stares and lustful eyes that followed her having learnt to disregard them long ago. The human men most likely saw her as some sort of exotic, mythical creature. A rare and unobtainable possession that no one could ever attempt to acquire. She did not care for such ignorant attitudes, but neither did it particularly bother her.

She thought of how different these men were, from the young human rider who had rescued her from Gilead. His eyes had also been filled with fascination and amazement, but rather than being stained with lust and infatuation, his eyes were alight with innocence and sympathy for her woeful plight.

"Perhaps not all of Gil'ead ended badly," she muttered to herself.

She stopped in front of his tent. Arya could hear neither sound nor movement from inside, and no light appeared to be lit. She was loathe to ask permission to enter, for it would be extremely impolite to wake him if he was already resting. Erring on the side of caution, she gently pulled back the flaps of the tent and edged her head inside.

"Arya!"

She spun around to find herself face to face with a puzzled looking Eragon.

"Are you looking for something?"

She gave him a hard look before responding.

"Nasuada sent me to pass on the details of our war council. The one that you, as the last free rider, were expected to attend." Arya hissed through clenched teeth.

Eragon sighed.

"I apologise for my absence Arya Svit-kona. It is just, Saphira and I have not had a moment to ourselves since Or-", He swallowed. "Since we took Feinster. We were desperate to clear our minds."

Arya rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the dull ache in her head.

"Perhaps it was necessary, but you should have informed me before hand. It was my responsibility to bring you to the council. I looked a fool in front of all the Varden's leaders and their subordinates. I do not take kindly upon looking foolish in front of others." Arya's tone softened a fraction. "But do not misunderstand me Eragon, for I understand the need to be alone. Elves are solitary creatures, and it seems we have rubbed off on you. Even so you would do well not be so reckless. Disappearing for a day without informing a single person? What if you had been caught Eragon?"

She expected him to stand down. To apologise profusely and vow to be more careful in the future. Of course he would, but he would say it with such determination that it was easy to believe he meant it this time.

Instead he nodded at her before walking straight past her, into his tent. Arya was momentarily surprised at his response, but before she could react further, he reappeared again with a small glass bottle in his hand.

"Come." Was all he said.

Inwardly, she groaned. It had been a long day, and the constant political manoeuvring and discussions of war tactics had left her mentally frustrated and exhausted. Nonetheless Arya had been assigned a task, and responsibility was something she had always taken very seriously. Quick, graceful steps brought her to where Eragon was standing in front of Saphira. He opened the bottle and covered the open mouth with his palm, tipping it over a number of times. Rubbing his hands together, he moved over to where Saphira lay and gently began rubbing it in wing met torso.

Arya opened her mouth to speak.

"Eragon I need to pass on-"

"Arya could you please take that cloth a dip into that bucket of warm water for me?"

Arya groaned again. He was clearly not listening to her. Again. She would have to wait till he was done.

After doing what he had asked of her, Eragon instructed her to rub it into the membrane around the edges. It was all done in a matter of minutes, their natural Elvin grace and swiftness allowing them to finish much faster than any human. She turned to speak, but immediately stopped herself.

Eragon stood there with his forehead pressed against Saphira's snout, gently stroking the side of her face. They said nothing, sharing their silent conversation in their minds, but their faces spoke everything. Occasionally Saphira would snort a puff of smoke as Eragon chuckled, other times he simply smiled as Saphira hummed. Arya watched silently as rider and dragon stood there, frozen in that position for half an hour, simply talking. Without any warning, Eragon turned to her with an apologetic look on his face.

"I am sorry for leaving you like that Arya." His eyes blanked for a second. Then he nodded. "Saphira thanks you for attending to her wings. They will still be sore tomorrow morning but not so painful that she will not be able to hunt."

Arya nodded in understanding. There was more to his statement than an apology and words of appreciation. Neither Eragon nor Saphira wished to hear anything of the war right now. Today had been their day off, perhaps the last one they would get. Their lack of interest was a silent plea for her not to ruin their peace by speaking of the future plans for killing and bloodshed. The next council of war would not be for a few days, their conversation could wait till morning. It surprised her that he was able to convey such a message without even touching the subject. It was typically Elvin, the way he would say one thing, but mean something else completely. Even if Eragon was still a farm boy at heart, on the outside he had matured considerably.

"I will see you tomorrow Eragon. Enjoy your evening."

Arya turned to leave but was stopped as Saphira's serpentine neck and head swept in front of her blocking her way. Saphira's head lifted and her nostrils flared as she sniffed the air. Behind her, she could hear Eragon doing the same and some silent agreement seem to pass through dragon and rider.

"Wait a moment, Arya."

Eragon quickly disappeared into his tent before emerging with a thick cloak. He handed it to her and quickly stepped back without a word.

"Eragon, I have many of these in my own tent, many of them much finger and warmer than this one. I hardly think that one more will be of any benefit."

Saphira's head snaked around to look her straight in the eye.

_Just trust-_

"-us Arya."

Her face betrayed a hint of amusement, before she dipped her head in acceptance and walked away. She had not walked a hundred metres before something light, but cold and solid brushed her cheek. Looking up, she saw thousands of tiny snowflakes drifting down from the heavens. Smiling to herself she immediately donned the thick cloak and pulled up her hood, before continuing her journey.

Winter had snuck up on them.

* * *

_So that's the first chapter all done! What do you guys reckon? Worth continuing? As you can probably tell, Yuki wasn't around to edit the last bits, so the quality will probably not be as good, but I was impatient and threw it out there anyway._

_So yeah, read review. I have lots of plans for this story, but have your say and perhaps you can influence us! I, no we, look forward to hearing your opinion. Obviously if you're reading this bit, you've just read the chapter! For that I thank you. Hopefully it won't be long till the next one comes out. But until then, friends, let us part._

_Be well, all of you!_

_-SeeKay._


	3. The Winds of Change

A/N

**Hello! The new chapter has arrived! I'm really overwhelmed by the positive response you guys have given me. This is actually my first fanfiction EVER, not just on ffnet. I've fiddled with a few short stories on my deviantart, but I haven't ever tried anything with considerable amounts of dialogue, and a predefined story line AND already developed characters. So this is very new to me, and the fact that everyone seems to be enjoying it, and already I have some +faves and Story alerts... kinda mind blowing hahaha. **

**In response to a few concerns that you've brought to my attention. Yes there were some errors last chapter. I'm sorry, I wrote most of it up in microsoft word, and it tries to change Orik to Erik, and Nasuada to Nausea... yeah... word is pretty fail haha. Also, I am quite aware that Arya was a bit OC last chapter. That was one of my primary concerns as I went about writing it. But thanks for placing extra emphasis on it. I've been making a much bigger attempt at trying to get it right this chapter, but once again, it is up to you readers to fill me in. It was only really there to give you guys a glimpse of what Arya could have been like in the past. =)**

**Yuki has played a much more significant role in this chapter, and for that I thank her. I am far from having any sort of talent as a writer. I'm an idealist. I can think of a million ways where I can take this story, and try to write it, but it is Yuki that brings my words to life, and it is you the reader, who witnesses the entire process. Am I rambling again? Yes! It's a habit when I get nervous. And I am nervous. Never tried a multi-chaptered story before. That's probably why sections end rather dramatically, when they don't need to. I'll work on it. As I said, and as you will hear many times to come, this is all very very new to me.**

**Once again, before I leave this A/N, another shoutout to Zi Rui and Qian Qian. I miss you both very much, and love you two dearly. Wish I could see you soon, but alas this cannot be the case.**

**So hear me reader. The second chapter of my take on the fourth IC book awaits you. Enjoy.**

* * *

Chapter 2:

_The first and last time Arya had seen her mother collapse before her, it had been snowing. A hundred years had passed but she could still remember as clear as yesterday, though she had been no more than three years old._

_Fäolin had already been thirteen. Despite the supposed ten years of additional maturity, it did not prevent him from helping her escape her guards. At three years old, Arya had understood that her guards were her shields, to shadow her tiny footsteps at all times. Her mother had hand-chosen them from her own sentinel division: the swiftest, the bravest and the most skilled in spell casting and swordsmanship alike._

_Arya merely pretended they were her shadows, flitting playfully after her childish tumbles, perhaps reflections of what she would become._

_She remembered Islanzadí explaining in a gentle, lyrical voice that, 'These are dangerous times child, and you will do well to remember it.' Contemplatively, Arya finds that her own voice now echoes a similar likeness to her mother's then. Albeit it possesses a hardness and weariness that was no doubt forged in the kiln of battle and tempered by the Shade's torture. _

_Islanzadí had never been more unfortunately correct. Those dangerous times had been enforced and mocked by the broken runner who delivered a message. The message had been a promise of defeat, of agony and of loss._

_Arya had been at that time, giving her guards the slip. __Fäolin had honed the art of distraction to the extent that even the swift, brave and skilled were not immune to his techniques. It had helped that her guards had been somewhat miffed at their new positions as the protectors of a three year old. _

_She remembered the rush of running and the sound of her quick and nimble footsteps across the palace grounds. The snow had covered the buildings in pure white armour and left glittering gifts in her hair. She had merely blinked it off her eyelashes in mild annoyance and continued on. Her delight from escaping had made her impervious to even the cold and for a moment, Arya had breathed freedom._

_It was then as she had been sneaking pass the throne room, gleefully evading her guards, that she heard an inhuman shriek of pain. It had taken a second for her to identify the voice, another two to freeze in the shock of her revelation, and three more to be at her mother's side. _

_One, two, three and __Islanzadí's wails had faded and abruptly silenced. But it seemed that though her mother's mouth had been closed into a pained, thin line, the whisper of her scream continued to ricochet off the intricate palace walls, and resound in Arya's mind._

_Arya had been relieved when Islanzadí had muted her scream and returned to her customary serene state, that she once more was the strong, impenetrable queen and kind mother. She had then realized that the hand she had slipped unknowingly into her mother's in a gesture of unconscious comfort was being crushed._

_Before she could cry out in alarm, her mother's hand had loosened and clutched at her heart in a feeble attempt to contain her torment. Then, as though her agony had become too much for her to bear, Queen Islanzadí__had toppled before Arya's eyes and a feather of fear had settled on her heart._

_What Arya remembered most clearly about that particular winter's day was the twisted agony on her mother's face and her fear of feeling an identical pain._

_It had been days later before someone thought to explain to Arya that her father would not be returning with the battalion of Elven warriors he had left with._

_It was a funny thing that when years later, and __Fäolin had fallen before her eyes, the feather had fluttered. In the brief lull during her torture at the hands of the Shade, Arya had wondered if her agony and slivers of guilt at Fäolin's passing mirrored her mother's. Perhaps then, it became no surprise that for Arya, love and pain went hand in hand._

_Now, as she examines the grey and forlorn skies above, the snow crunching beneath her feet, Arya realises despite all the memories that winter brings, despite the famed strength of Elven memory, she can only remember her father's hands._

_Long and slender, they had threaded through her dark hair in elegant, comforting strokes._

_Arya glanced at her hands: littered with small scars and pale as snow. They look like her father's and she thinks that maybe, it is acceptable to have forgotten his voice._

* * *

The first thing Nasuada noticed was the cold.

Standing outside her pavilion with the shadows of the Nighthawks behind her, it seeped through her thick cloak as though it were mocking its purpose. Frost-laced wind gusted through her hair, bringing with it, the scent of morning dew and frozen grass.

Had it snowed all night, her view would have been that of a white castle, a winter wonderland. As it was, the early winter snowfall had lasted only for the first few hours of morning: when the sun still hid from the moon and stars. As it rose, the thin layer of snow had melted and mixed with the soil, leaving a very frustrated Nasuada to trudge through freezing puddles of mud. Even so, she barely noticed the moisture soaking through her boots, or the air frosting before her as she exhaled.

In another time and place, the coming of winter would have reminded her of innocence, of memories before a fire where she had played at her father's feet. But even then, she had not indulged in the dolls and playthings that other girls her age had cherished. She would have smiled to remember the scolding she received for playing with her father's dagger. But this was war, she was a leader and her father was no longer here to scold her.

Those memories had made her what she was now, but to cling to them desperately in an attempt to seek comfort was no longer an option for her.

Memories were distractions.

Distractions meant mistakes.

Mistakes cost lives.

No, Nasuada thought none of these trivial things. Her mind was elsewhere, racing to respond to the early onset of winter's frost. She did not smile as she passed by two adolescents pelting each other with snow that had not yet melted.

Her mind was purely focused on change. As it should be.

Winter was different. Winds swung around to blow from the north-east, making attacks by fire a foolish tactic. Supply convoys would be slow to arrive. Living off the land was equally as futile. Winter had always brought the death of crops, warnings of hypothermia and frostbite. It represented the uncertain chill of a future fast approaching. Above all, she was frustrated at what the change in seasons meant for the Varden. Soldiers must be reequipped with winter gear lest they remain frozen even in the heat of battle. Troop movements must be adjusted for the change in terrain that snow would no doubt bring. Recovery plans and medical responses must be considered and re-evaluated.

Change. Adjustment. The two words echoed like warning bells in Nasuada's mind.

_I should have seen the signs. The winds had already begun to swing around weeks ago. I had seen the geese migrating far earlier than expected. The chilly mornings? I should have known!_

Winter had snuck up on them. Changes and adjustments would have to be made, for almost everything.

She almost cursed when she realized that the changes would have to include their battle plans.

* * *

_"Brisingr"_

Blue flames burst into life and greedily began devouring the sticks and twigs that Eragon fed it. As it grew and flared, the flames reverted back to a normal red colour. Finally, he threw a few stout logs on the pile when he was satisfied that the fire was hot enough to ignite them.

Without warning Saphira barged into his mind.

_Why did you not just ask me to start your fire? Dragon fire will burn far hotter than any flames that feed off wood alone._

_Why good morning to you too, Saphira._

_Yes, yes. Now why did you not ask me?_

Eragon chuckled.

_Your flames are too hot Saphira. Had I asked this of you, all my fuel _Eragon gestured to a stack of various sized branches he had gathered. _Would have burned to ash. It would have been roasting hot for all of three seconds. I need to sustain it, not play with it._

_I could have sustained my own fire for long enough. _Saphira sniffed.

Eragon gently reached up to pat her snout.

_Ah but you are Queen of the skies. Sustaining a fire to warm a mere two-leg is not a worthy use for your strength and energy. _He explained to appease her.

A single jeweled eye examined Eragon for a few long moments before she snorted.

_I am going to hunt. It has been a long time since I will have been tested like this, and opportunities such as these only come once a year._

The animals would be scarce and difficult to find in the winter, many choosing to hide away in hibernation until warmer months. For Saphira, it was almost always too easy to hunt her prey. Only the Beor Mountains, the Spine and the Hadarac desert had offered her any level of difficulty, except of course, in winter.

Turning his attention to the dancing flames, Eragon set about the far more important task of making breakfast. He quickly darted inside his tent to retrieve a few blackberry leaves. Despite his extensive time amongst the elves, tea was something he was still unable to truly appreciate. In fact, the intense sweetness of true blackberry tea had never appealed to Eragon. These leaves were somewhat his own invention. Plucked before the plant had fully matured, and dried instantly with magic, it provided a much milder flavor, and its lack of ripeness added a hint of sourness for balance. Eragon dropped a few of the leaves into the tin kettle and left it sitting in the fire to steep and boil. To a bucket he added some milk, honey, water and rolled oats before leaving that too, on the fire to cook.

His preparations done, he sat back down on a log to wait. Eragon sighed and breathed in the cool morning air. His keen ears immediately picked up the sound of shoes crunching in the snow. Turning around, he was confronted by the two brilliant emerald orbs of one Arya Drottningu, still wearing the cloak he had given her the night before.

"Good morning, Eragon."

His reaction was the same each time they met. He took two seconds to swallow his emotions before responding. Lifting two fingers to touch his lips he greeted her.

"_Atra esterni ono thelduin._"

Her face betrayed a hint of shock at being addressed in such a manner first, but as always, her response was cool and collected.

"_Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."_

_"Un du evarinya ono varda."_ Eragon concluded. "And good morning to you too, Shadeslayer."

A ghost of a smile touched Arya's lips before that calm stoic mask she had always worn settled on her features.

"It is my duty to inform you of the discussion that occurred yesterday. Is now a good time?"

Eragon nodded. "Tell me whilst I see to breakfast."

And so she did. She spoke of Nasuada's plan to split Varden's forces, taking half to cross the River Jiet to strike from the east, the rest travelling on foot to attack from the south. But as she talked, Eragon only noticed her lack of emotion and the cool tone she spoke with. Quickly reminding himself to pay attention, he managed to catch the last of Arya's concluding sentences.

"It's not going to work," he said.

A single arched eyebrow prompted him to elaborate

"Things have changed. _Risa._"

The kettle immediately rose from the fire. Leaving it suspended in mid air, he retreated to his tent to retrieve two wooden cups and a thick cloth. He set the cups down on the ground, the soil still partially frozen from this morning's frost, before wrapping the cloth around his hand and grasping the hovering kettle. Eragon turned to face an impassive looking Arya, still waiting for his explanation.

"Tea, Arya?"

Princess Arya Drottningu was many things. A master swordsman and magician. A peerless beauty amongst elves and humans alike. She was swift as a diving dragon striking its prey. As cunning as a pack of wolves stalking their evening meal. But patient, she was not.

So thus it was that a fuming and frustrated Arya sat silently on a log, on a wintery morning, the chilly gusts of wind spraying her silky raven hair behind her, emerald orbs blazing as the last free dragon rider in all of Alagaesia offered her breakfast and tea.

* * *

As the elf ran, the air grew cooler, the ground at her feet, softer. She was approaching Feinster now, and even at such a great distance, her slanted eyes could make out the monumental stone walls that guarded the battle-scarred city. And while the continuous motion of her fluid limbs had grown monotonous, her mind still remained alert for even a whisper of danger.

For she had travelled a dangerous path indeed, from Gil'ead to here where Varden's Dragon Rider resided. Too many times had she almost been discovered and only her Elven senses and knowledge of spells kept her presence hidden from the Empire's soldiers. The snow had made it near impossible to cover her tracks but luck and fortune had blessed her.

Islanzadí had chosen her for her speed and talent for evasion. To her enemies, she was a mirage of movement, a pale blur so swift they could not be certain she had passed them at all. Her journey here had been treacherous. Not only had she evaded the multitude of the Empire's soldiers, she had also travelled the borderline of the fallen city of Uru'baen, heart of the Empire and all its might.

Her steps were swift, her silvery blonde hair smooth as a flowing river trailing behind her. Nature left no signs of her passing, only the swirl of leaves as the wind gusted behind her. Her footsteps made no sound, the smell of fallen autumn leaves the only thing marking her presence as she passed by.

Her name was Niduen, the miraculous traveler and across her back she carried the reminder of loss and in her pouch, a message to a Rider from her Queen.

* * *

Blackberry tea was not a favourite of Arya's. The rich sweetness that was the trademark of said tea, she found, was overpowering and unbalanced and the bitter aftertaste was not at all pleasant. So it was with slight reluctance, that she accepted the cup of tea from Eragon. To her surprise the fragrance was not overbearing but rather refreshing and mild. As she lifted the cup to her lips, she noticed the colour was a much lighter shade of purple. Instead of the explosion of flavor she was expecting, the tea seemed to glide into her mouth: releasing its gentle sweetness and a hint of sourness that followed it. As she swallowed, warmth spread from her stomach to her toes and fingers, chasing away the morning chills.

"Do you like it?"

"What is this? It smells clearly of blackberry but…" She swallowed another mouthful, relishing the flavor before finishing her sentence, "Not quite the same."

Eragon smiled at her, but instead of answering he gestured to the melting snow all around them.

"We can't cross the river. The surface will be frozen to the extent that it will slow down any attempts to cross with boats, but it still won't be thick enough to support the weight of a man. Let alone an army."

He turned to his now cooked oats and spooned a substantial amount into a simply carved bowl and offered it to her.

"Even if they made it across, they won't be able to keep up. The snowfall will be much worse to the east, and the people travelling northwards on foot will be sitting on Belatona's doorstep for weeks. We'll lose too much time, and soldiers sitting around in the outdoors whilst snow falls on them tend to become demoralized rather quickly."

He stopped to eat a few mouthfuls of his breakfast before continuing.

"Even so, we can't afford to sit around much longer. Feinster is fairly isolated in itself. There's not going to be a lot of supplies coming to us here, the surrounding terrain makes it far too inaccessible. The soldiers stationed in Belatona can simply outlast our siege if we don't strike them with our full force. They'll just starve us to death. The key here is turning the weather to our advantage. I believe the key reason for splitting our forces was this narrow pass here."

Eragon quickly sketched a rough map of the path from Feinster to Belatona with the tip of Brisingr. Setting his sword aside he pointed at the spot he was talking about.

"See here?" He said, gesturing Arya to take a closer look.

"When Saphira and I were out flying we noticed this spot. If we sent our entire force through this narrow pass here, we'd be extremely vulnerable to an ambush. It takes time to mobilize and then march a force of our size that distance. All they'd need is a few scores of archers and they could slice huge chunks out of our army as we passed through.

"But now, now it's winter, and this pass is closer to Feinster than Belatona. They won't be able to move their troops there in time so we can bring our entire army through here without fear of ambush. For the same reason, we can't cross the Jiet River to our east; they won't be able to bring reinforcements in quickly enough to respond. Only a rider could aid them fast enough, but in this weather, should they run into a snow storm, even Galbatorix would be hard pressed to reach them. It's all about not trying to change the things we have no control of, and taking advantage of things we can," he finished.

Arya looked at him with barely concealed shock.

"You underestimate yourself Eragon. I had not thought of half the things that you have just suggested."

"I doubt there is anything you do not think of Arya Svit-Kona," he snorted in reply.

Arya stiffened. "I am not perfect, Eragon. Everyone has their flaws and weaknesses. Overseeing plans for upcoming battles is not one of my strengths."

"I'm sure that you may think so, but compared to most people, I would say you do quite well."

She immediately rose to her feet. The warmth from the tea had faded, and the chill of the morning had settled on her skin once again.

"You overestimate me Shadeslayer," she said. Seeing his sword lying on the ground, she walked over to it. "May I?"

Eragon nodded. Arya unsheathed Brisingr from its scabbard, marveling at the way the sapphire blue blade shimmered in the sunlight. Swinging it experimentally a few times, she whirled and tossed it at Eragon's feet. Drawing her own sword she whispered, "Gëuloth du knífr," and a small red spark leapt from her hands to coat her sword in a barrier for safety.

Then she pointed its tip at him, and took guard.

"Defend yourself Shadeslayer."

Eragon glanced up at Arya uncertainly, searching her eyes for the purpose of her sudden challenge. But her emerald orbs were icy gems that revealed nothing, and Eragon was compelled to attach his scabbard to his belt and reluctantly pick up his sword.

Arya gave him only enough time to cover his own sword with the invisible covering before she lunged.

It was only Eragon's reflexes, born from need rather than years of practice, that saved him from Arya's first thrust. Blue sparks flew as the paths of their swords met with swift precision. Without stopping to pause, Arya rained down heavy blows in quick succession and Eragon rapidly realized that this spar was not a friendly one.

Arya's eyes were shining with determination as though to prove a point that Eragon remained ignorant of.

Again, Eragon's quick reflexes prevented him from receiving a serious injury when Arya feinted to his right before her sword darted like a snake striking, to his left. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to concentrate: to forget that this was Arya, the Elven princess and pretend that she was just another nameless, faceless enemy.

Almost at once, he fell into a pattern of smooth movement that brought him back to the sparring yards of Ellesméra. Eragon found himself fighting with an almost mindless intensity, enjoying the exhilaration and strength that began to sing through his veins. The snow, initially difficult to move across, fell away as he leapt about lightly on the balls of his feet. Eragon discovered it was easy to ignore the cold air that seared his lungs at every breath and whipped frost through his clothes.

The area rang with the furious din of their battle. Eragon's opponent matched him, blow for blow but Eragon was undeterred. Brisingr had become an extension of his arm, slicing through the space before him so quickly he wondered if the sword were directing his movements rather than the thoughts racing across his mind. They continued in this manner well after Eragon's breakfast turned cold and his fire had faded to embers.

_TSING._ Eragon's sword swung so near his opponent's chest, they were forced to lean backwards in an acrobatic feat to avoid it. The call of victory was close, and Eragon redoubled his efforts. He was a frenzy of movement, unrelenting as he edged his adversary into an unfavourable position.

With a final stroke, Eragon's efforts were rewarded as his opponent suddenly became aware of Eragon's tent behind them. A quick sidestep to avoid it came with a price as they swiftly found themselves on their knees, struggling with the weight of Brisingr bearing down upon them.

In a ploy to gain an advantage, his opponent grabbed a handful of snow and flung it with deadly accuracy into Eragon's eyes.

Eragon cursed and blinked rapidly as he back-peddled in an attempt to place some distance between them. He desperately flung out his sword to defend himself from the blow he knew was coming, but was not quick enough.

Pain exploded in his right shoulder, numbing it instantly and Eragon almost dropped his sword. Swiftly, he switched it to his left hand and blocked the upcoming strike. The blow jarred his arm all the way up to his shoulders and Eragon knew his neglect in practicing with his left hand was going to cost him. The stroke was followed by another and it was all Eragon could do to parry and block. The angles his left hand had to make in order to deflect the blows were alien to him. Eragon dreaded the next few strikes as his arm grew increasingly numb with every cut.

And moments later he was proven correct as a particularly powerful uppercut tore Brisingr out of his unfamiliar left-handed grip. It fell some distance away but Eragon forwent retrieving it in favour of ducking the swing that would have bruised his other arm. Desperately, he back-pedalled and scoured the area for weapons.

A half-baked idea began to form in his mind. If he had breath to spare, he would have laughed at the incredulity of it.

With no other choice, Eragon, reached for the dagger he had recently begun carrying in his boot and unhooked Brisingr's scabbard from his belt.

_CLANG!_

There was a ringing clash of steel and his opponent's blade stopped dead in the air. Eragon had crossed his two makeshift weapons in front of it, the dagger supporting the scabbard, and blocked the overhand cut. The moment of surprise at his adaptability was all Eragon needed to hook his right leg behind his adversary's knees and topple them.

Eragon did not allow them to recover, for in the same movement, he flowed forward desperately and at last slipped his dagger under his opponent's chin.

Just like that, Eragon's senses seemed to return to him as though he had been holding his breath and could finally breathe once more. His opponent was no longer the façade of a foe but Arya who was on the floor before him, her sword some distance behind her. He realised with sudden clarity that he was staring down into emerald eyes that held something akin to pride in them. With slight puzzlement he noted that Arya's orbs also contained a hint of triumph and approval.

As he withdrew his dagger, hardly believing he was the victor, Eragon noticed with a blush, that Arya appeared brighter and somehow more alive than when he first greeted her. She was flushed with the heat of battle and a perplexing satisfaction that Eragon thought complimented her well.

He himself was panting hard, his breaths forming little wisps of air in front of him. It was then, as he finally summoned the strength to raise his head that he realized a small crowd had formed around them: every person wide-eyed and staring in awe. Not a word was uttered amongst them. The only sounds came from the wind gusting across the Varden's camp and the distant clanging of hammers from the blacksmith's forges.

A scuffling noise in front of him broke the silence. Quickly dusting himself off, he held out a hand to Arya, as she pushed herself off the ground. She stared at his proffered hand and for a moment he thought that she would not take it. However, strong fingers snaking out to grasp his forearm quickly dispelled the notion and Eragon heaved the downed elf to her feet. After taking a moment to fix her disheveled appearance as best she could, Arya turned to Eragon a small smile on her face.

"Well fought, Shur'tugal."

"And you as well, Shadeslayer."

Arya's posture immediately stiffened, and Eragon froze, immediately realizing his mistake. The crowd burst into whispers, each person trying to remain discreet, but his sharp Elven hearing picked up snippets of the conversation.

_"That she-elf slew a shade."_

_"Two Shadeslayer's facing off in a duel!"_

_"Unbelievable."_

_"Incredible!"_

Eragon's head dropped again, his shoulders sagging.

"Arya, I-"

Arya raised a hand, cutting him off.

"The truth always has a habit of surfacing eventually. Do not apologize, for I was not offended, merely surprised. If you are anywhere near as tired as I, then you cannot be blamed for a small slip of the truth."

Eragon chuckled.

"Ah, you do not understand. It is not that I am apologizing for."

Arya gave him a puzzled look.

"Then what?"

"It is for what is to come."

As if on cue, the crowd erupted into shouts.

_"Shadeslayer! Grant me a wish, I beg of you!"_

_"Bless my child, Shadeslayer."_

_"Shadeslayer, please be the mother of my children!"_

At the last comment, Arya whirled back to Eragon, her eyes blazing and all signs of fatigue in her posture disappearing in an instant.

Conversely, Eragon's eyes were completely blank, and to Arya's mirth, she concluded he must be conversing with Saphira.

"Lady Arya!" a voice gasped from the crowd. "Nasuad-… meeting…"

Arya turned to see Jarsha forcing his way through to the front.

"Lady Arya." Jarsha bowed to her as well as Eragon, who was still staring into space. "Nasuada requests your presence at a meeting in four hours. She said it was extremely urgent and that-" Jarsha's eyes flickered to Eragon's still form for a second. "-everyone is required to attend. No exceptions."

"Of course, Jarsha. Thank you for telling us," said Eragon, having obviously finished talking to Saphira.

His gaze fell to his feet sharply. Arya's eyes followed his. A cat was winding its way around his legs, rubbing him gently.

_Hello Solembum. _She heard Eragon greet him. _What brings you here?_

_No reason in particular, _Solembum responded as he stretched. _I was bored and decided to check in on you._

Solembum yawned, revealing a row of razor sharp teeth, before padding away through the crowd leaving a thoroughly confused Eragon still rooted on the spot. Solembum stopped and flicked his tail towards them.

_Oh and Angela asked me to "tell the blockhead to pay me a visit once he has finished knocking up the Princess of the Elves."._

With that, Solembum was lost amidst the crowd which was still waiting eagerly, hoping for them to continue.

Instead Eragon retrieved and sheathed _Brisingr_, Arya doing the same with her own Elven blade.

"Prepare yourself Arya."

With a roar, the crowd converged on the two of them. Children were shoved in Arya's face, mothers and fathers fell on their knees and blocked her path. Beside her, she could feel Eragon and the direction his thoughts as they spiraled upwards into the air.

_Saphira! _He cried.

With a roar, Saphira in all her glory dived out of the clouds and straight towards them. The men and women around them froze, and then fled away from the swooping dragon. Saphira landed, a few people tumbling over as the earth shook, announcing her presence.

"Quickly Arya!"

Eragon was already standing in the saddle, his arm outstretched.

This time she didn't hesitate. Grasping his forearm, she pulled herself up behind him. Eragon hurriedly darted around her, fastening the straps around her legs.

"What about you?" asked Arya.

"I'm not coming." He replied, as he jumped off Saphira.

"Eragon Shadeslayer-"

"Fly Saphira!"

With a bugle of joy, Saphira threw herself into the air, a fuming Arya attached to her back. Saphira snorted at the elf's annoyance, puffing out a cloud of smoke as she did so. However Arya's anger was quickly replaced with fear. Her fingers gripped the saddle tightly, her knuckles white with tension as Saphira rolled rapidly around in the air. Arya quickly squeezed her eyes shut as her world rotated around her. Finally, as Saphira turned upside down completely, Arya did something that she had not done since before that fateful winter, one hundred years ago.

She screamed; in elation, in freedom, in absolute terror…

…and in pure joy.

* * *

_Done then! Second chapter up for all you guys to enjoy. Once again, I thank every single person for reading this story, and to those who have reviewed, an extra thank you goes out to you too. This chapter, in fact, could have gone much, much longer. Perhaps another 6000 words or so, but I feel you all deserved something to read, so here I am. I am already working hard on the next chapter...Yuki...not so hard... she's working hard on her WoW levelling though XD. That's right, the guy does the writing, the girl does the gaming, how about that huh? _

_So yeah, hopefully more people will come in and tune in to Endgame. As I said at the start, this is not the type of thing I normally write. Dialogue is not my forte. If this story is any good at all, you should be thanking Yuki. Her tireless editting and writing has changed this story from its rough copy, to a much finer piece of work._

_Well then, dear readers. This is where the second chapter ends. The next one always comes out about 2-3 days after I finish writing it down on paper. As a personal favour to me, I would like you all to stalk down Saiyuki Tasuke and spam her telling her not to be a lazy bum and to help SeeKay out with ENDGAME! :D Haha._

_Peace out guys!_


	4. Revelations

**A/N**

**Hey people. :D **

**It's Yuki here. Yes, I realise you haven't really heard from me before which gives me all the more reason to say hi! **

**Just wanted to say, SeeKay here is brilliance personified. Not only is he an amazing writer (even though he denies it vehemently) he just seems to pull ideas out of his – ahem, out of no where! **

**I bow to the people who liked the duel I wrote in the previous chapter and I hope that the duel (duels really) in this chapter will live up to your expectations. **

**Oh and thank you to all the people who reviewed. (You should see how excited SeeKay gets when he gets one haha… not that I'm any different *sheepish look). **

**Now on with the story!**

**I do not pull things out of my "ahem".**

**-SeeKay.**

* * *

Chapter 3:

Riding by oneself on the back of a dragon, could be an extremely daunting and humbling experience. It was not quite frightening, so long as the dragon was not feeling particularly adventurous. However, nothing could truly compare to the feeling of insignificance Arya felt as Saphira glided high above the trees and birds, the Varden's camp all but a tiny ant hill beneath them.

In these moments of serenity and solitude, Arya marvelled at the way the air seemed to part before Saphira as she flew. The brilliant blue dragon was indeed, as Oromis had once commented to her, an 'unusually talented flier'. Massive leathery wings beat the air causing no more rise and fall than the fluttering of a leaf in a breeze.

Here as Arya floated, an unremarkable speck in the overcast skies, her mind lay completely open. Her awareness spread outwards in a rush. With nothing to interrupt her, she was able to silently track the consciousness' of a tiny flock of sparrows weaving through the branches of trees, a mob of deer bounding across the snowy plains, squirrels foraging through their winter-

_Arya._

Albeit, _almost_ nothing to interrupt her.

_If you do not wish for me to show off my more agile flying techniques, I suggest you stop monitoring a potential meal._

_You were in my mind?_

Saphira made a peculiar grating sound that Arya took for laughter.

_Little elf, you were thinking so loud I could have heard you from the Beor mountains. That and your mind lay wide open, and you are not the only creature here that is aware of another's consciousness._

_I should have known not to underestimate a dragon._

_Of course not._

Arya fell silent. Although it was clear Saphira was comfortable enough letting Arya ride her, and to speak to her mind directly, Arya had rarely been exposed to Saphira's full attention alone. Normally Eragon was there to provide some sort of go-between or someone they could both relate to. But he was not here, and his dragon was nothing short of intimidating, despite all those years she had carried her as an egg.

Nasuada's words concerning Eragon's wellbeing rose unbidden in her mind. Eragon's mind had been quite an enigma, as of late. His thoughts and attention seemed to flitter from subject to subject like that of a child chasing butterflies. Yet there always seemed to be some direction to his apparently random musings. Nonetheless, Arya, being the rather direct person she was, found it increasingly bewildering and overall, distracting. He was more likely to comment on the weather than answer any question about the state of his and his dragon's mental health. However she was here alone with Saphira, so perhaps…

_Saphira._

_Yes? _Was the immediate response as the dragon sniffed the air.

_I do not wish to pry, but Nasuada requested that I ask about your well-_

_Ah it will be a fine day tomorrow; I may just ask Eragon if the Varden have any mead lying around._

Arya let out a silent groan.

_Not you too…_

Saphira merely raised her snout in puzzlement.

Eragon paused outside the tent.

* * *

"Wait outside?" he asked Jarsha who nodded and stepped back. Eragon had learnt earlier that Nasuada had asked Jarsha to stay with Eragon until their next meeting in order to make sure Eragon attended this one. Amused, Eragon had conceded with little protest, to Jarsha's relief.

Eragon considered the tent. Unlike his own, Nasuada's and even Arya's tent, there was nothing to knock on. He imagined it might look rather foolish to knock on the canvas so he dropped his fisted hand. Praying that Angela would forgive his rudeness, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. But before he could do so, a hand darted out from the opening, grasped his collar and yanked him inside. He found himself thrust into a chair and face to face with Angela herself.

"You're late!" she declared.

Eragon was baffled.

"Late? You didn't even give me a specific time! All you said that you wished to see me once-"

"Yes, yes. Once you finished knocking up that princess of the Elves. Does that mean you did?"

"Knock her up? Of course not!"

"Then you lost your spar. One wonders how you are meant to defeat the dark king if you cannot even best a female elf. Perhaps your sword skills need more work."

"No I did not lose, I-" Eragon slapped his forehead in exasperation, "I am not late!"

"If you turn up later than I expected you, then you are late aren't you? Oh and I wouldn't go slapping your head like that, I doubt you can afford to lose more brain cells."

Eragon let out a groan, making no effort to hide his annoyance. He was still exhausted from his session with Arya, and already his patience was wearing thin.

"Angela!"

"Yes, blockhead?" she responded.

"Why. Am. I. Here?"

"Oh I need you to do something for me."

"To tell you whether a tomato is a fruit or a vegetable?"

Angela turned and gave him a puzzled expression.

"Why would I want to know that?" she said before turning to a bubbling liquid. She picked it up and sniffed it before dropping a few cubes of ice into it. The liquid hissed and fizzed as the cubes landed with a splash.

"Here, drink this for me."

Eragon eyed the yellow liquid suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"Aren't you tired from your work out with the elf?"

He scratched his head, a little bit of frost fell out of his hair and began melting on the floor as he did so.

"I suppose so."

Angela scoffed in response.

"Your arms are still trembling. Drink that. It will help you. You might even like it."

The liquid hissed and fizzed as it landed on his tongue, leaving a slight burning sensation on his throat as he swallowed. It had a distinct, sharp, citric flavour with a hint of sugar. As the thin liquid trickled down his throat, he felt the icy coolness spreading out from his core in a sweeping, refreshing wave. Eragon gasped as he felt the ends of his toes and fingers tingling with energy. The fog of exhaustion that had settled on his mind dispersed and the trembling in his muscles subsided. His eyes widened, and just like that, he was completely refreshed and brimming with energy.

"Angela," he breathed. "What was that?"

"Urine," she responded merrily, as she began pouring more of the liquid into a waterskin.

"What!" Eragon leapt from his seat, staring at the now empty cup in horror.

Angela on her part, all but ignored his sudden outburst. She continued her work, crushing some ice with the flat of her knife before gently tipping that too, into the waterskin, humming a tuneless melody to herself all the while.

_Calm down, Shadeslayer. She is, as she enjoys saying, 'keeping the blockhead on his toes'_ said Solembum as he slinked out from underneath a table.

_I believe what you just consumed was a mixture of lemon juice, sugar, ice, carbon dioxide and that strange alcoholic drink that elves seem to enjoy._

_Faelnirv, you mean?_

_Yes._

_Not urine._

_No._

_Good._ He sighed, falling back onto the chair.

_It helps does it not?_

_Yes._ Eragon agreed. It does. I feel completely refreshed.

_Yes, but be cautious. What you are feeling now is only a temporary respite. It is not a replacement for a proper rest and meal, and you most certainly cannot live off of it._

_I understand Solembum. Thank you._

Angela finally turned to him, handing him Stwo waterskins.

"What you have just drunk should be enough to get you through till dinner. But knowing you, you'll find yourself knocking up some other unfortunate woman soon enough so those-" she gestured to the waterskins she had given him. "-are for you to drink once you're done playing."

"Both?"

"No, blockhead. The other is for that she-elf of yours. Now shoo, I am busy."

_Busy doing what?_ Eragon wondered as he got to his feet and walked to the exit, nodding to Solembum as he walked past. Behind him Angela's voice rang out for one final comment.

"Oh and a tomato is a fruit and don't you forget it."

* * *

_Arya._

_Saphira?_

_May I ask you a question?_

_Of course, brightscales._

_Why did you fight my rider this morning?_

_I do not know what you mean._

_Even before you began your spar, you knew you could not best him. On pure swordsmanship, I doubt any but another rider could defeat him._

_He almost lost._

_But he did not._

_I forced Brisingr from his hand._

_So? He defeated you with only a dagger and his scabbard._

Arya sighed. Eragon's dragon was every inch as stubborn and relentless as he was.

_You will not repeat this to Eragon?_

_On my word as a dragon._

She raked her fingers back through her windswept black tresses, now unkempt and dishevelled from her extended exposure to the wind.

_Elves live for as long as they choose to. We have magic that no other race possesses. Our culture and history flows back longer than any being could ever recall. For those reasons, elves do not believe in the existence of extremities. Concepts such as impossibility, eternity and the like are rarely mentioned because we do not believe in their plausibility._

_You would include perfection in these extremities would you not?_

_Yes._

_Elaborate…_

_I… sometimes think that Eragon sees me as the epitome of perfection. Yet I am not. Perfection is a concept that all strive to achieve, yet it is not obtainable. I am a person, elf or not. I am flawed! If he cannot see that, then perhaps he does not know or understand me as well as he hopes. My character is flawed, my body is flawed, and my techniques are flawed and incomplete, far more than his, even though I have been training for three times as long as he has lived. That is why he will always best me, should he continue to focus. His technique and agility alone, are superb, and combined with the flair and adaptability that his youth brings, I have no doubt that not a single elf could best him._

_He seemed surprised to have beaten you._

_Yes. Whilst it is flattering to be seen as perfect, it is not something I desire, for it is not a true representation of myself. It is only an illusion, created by his own mind and fed by his lack of experience!_

Arya's mouth snapped shut, somewhat surprised by the force of her emotions which lay naked as she spoke.

_We should head back, Saphira. I have a meeting I must prepare for._

Saphira silently changed course and began the fly back to camp. Arya was once again quiet, lost in her own musings as she pondered her sudden outburst.

_You should know better than to underestimate my rider, little elf._ Once again, her thinking was disrupted by Saphira's response.

_I do not understand._

_Of course nothing that exists is perfect. But perfection is still an objective term. It is open to interpretation. Consider this, elf. What if, rather than flaws marring perfection, instead it is the flaws that create perfection as one sees it._

Arya's mind attempted to slowly process the dragon's words. She abruptly fell into complete silence, as she did so, unsure of how to respond.

In her mind she heard Saphira chuckle.

_Do not ponder on it too deeply Arya. Just enjoy the last remaining moments of freedom that you will have for a while. We will be arriving shortly._

_Thank you for having me, great one. It was an honour and a pleasure._

_It should not be me you are thanking. These are gifts. From Eragon._

_He would dare to use his dragon as a playtoy to be borrowed or given away?_

_Of course not. If I did not give my consent, you would not be here._

_Then I must thank you again._

_Then you are most welcome, elf._

* * *

"Eragon Shadeslayer?"

A voice that reminded him of a combination of birds trilling in the spring, sounded from behind him.

He turned around to face who greeted him and froze to the spot. Platinum blonde hair spilled down to her waist, with one lock over each ear. Two pointed ears peered out from underneath, signifying that he was in presence of an elf, and a beautiful one at that.

She was dressed in a sensible two piece, made for speed and comfort, as opposed to protection. Her tunic and pants were a light green colour, gently shaping around the contours of her body, not tightly, but not loosely either. Her sword was strapped across her back, and two needle thin daggers could be seen tucked in the back of her running boots. But what struck him most were her eyes, a chilling ice-blue colour, piercing into his, not intimidating but challenging, yet somehow remaining friendly.

Striding forward she bowed her head slightly to him, before lifting two fingers to her lips to begin her greeting.

"_Atra esterni ono thelduin._"

"_Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr."_

"And may the stars watch over you," she finished, responding in the common tongue. "I am a messenger sent by Queen Islanzadi to see you, my lord."

Eragon winced at the formality in her tone.

"Please do not call me 'my lord'. I was born on a farm, and such titles of nobility are exceedingly uncomfortable to me."

"Of course, my lord Eragon," responded the she-elf. This time however, her tone was alight with humour and understanding.

Forcing a smile, he said no more but waited for her to explain her purpose.

To his surprise, she too maintained that silence, her pale blue eyes boring into his, as if waiting or searching for something.

"Ah, my lady, you are a messenger. Do you have some sort of letter or package for me?"

"Yes."

"May I see it?"

"No."

Eragon's eyes widened at that response. _Was this some kind of prank?_ He wondered. His astonishment rooted him to the spot and he attempted to determine an appropriate course of action.

_She is humouring me. Perhaps I should do the same._

Just as he came to that conclusion, the elf finally made a move. She reached behind her, pulled her long flowing hair into a tight bun at the bottom of her neck and held it in place with a carved wooden feather.

The elf tossed the bundle that she had been carrying over her shoulder onto the ground. She then slid her sword halfway out of its sheathe before letting it fall back, as if checking that her draw would be unhindered.

"I will give it to you Shadeslayer, if you can best me in a _proper_ duel."

"A proper duel?"

"Three killing blows with a blocked blade, is thus declared the winner. If you win, I will hand over my message and package and assign myself as your servant."

"If I lose?"

"Then I will come and go as I please, waiting for you to best me. It will be your responsibility to find me, even if I conceal myself in Uru'baen itself."

Eragon inwardly balked at drawing his sword against the slender, blond elf. She looked as if a mere gust of wind would blow her over. However the determination in her eyes shone through, and it was then that Eragon truly realized that this elf, was deadly serious, despite her teasing tone.

"If this is a proper duel, should we not have a proper audience?" inquired Eragon.

"By all means," she replied, a smile in her tone. Eragon gestured to Jarsha who had been watching their interaction interestedly. Jarsha nodded in understanding and left.

It was not long before Jarsha returned with Nasuada and her entourage which included King Orrin, Nar Garzhvog, Narheim, Jörmundur, her Nighthawks… and Arya. Apparently, Jarsha had explained the situation along the way here as they were now looking at Eragon and the mysterious she-elf with curiosity. They settled themselves around the small clearing that was to be their battlefield and waited.

_"Gëuloth du knífr."_

A red spark flew down Eragon's blade, blocking Brisingr's keen edge. As an afterthought, he blocked his dagger as well.

The elf was already striding forward to meet him, the red spark on her blade flickering out of existence as she covered her sword without a word.

Eragon stood his ground hesitantly.

"Wait! Before we begin may I ask your name?"

She smiled a genuine tight lipped smile.

"I will tell you…" she said, rolling her shoulders, "If you win."

"One would say you are being mysterious on purpose."

"One would say you would be correct. A woman should have her secrets," the elf responded tauntingly.

"Ready?"

Eragon didn't know what to expect. Her stature was slight and she was even more slender than Arya, he noted bemusedly. However, she handled the sword in her hand with deceptive ease, thin wrists twirling in experimental swings before returning to the guard position. She was smiling at him, an expression he had learned not to expect so unguardedly from Elves particularly after the extensive time he spent with Arya. It made him wonder about her age.

"Ready."

She was still smiling at him when one of Nasuada's Nighthawks dropped a flag to the floor to signal the start of their spar.

That smile was the last thing he saw before the whisper of her breath was at the back of his neck, her sword lying languidly across his throat. Only wind had hinted at her movement! He could feel her body pressed against his back, her face next to his, and her breath tickling his cheek. The scent of fallen autumn leaves teased his senses as her smell wafted through the air.

"Too slow," she said dangerously behind his back, the smile still in her voice. Her lips brushed his cheek as she spoke, and Eragon could feel the tips of his ears reddening.

His mind could barely comprehend what had happened, the speed in which she must have moved to have caught him off guard so easily! Adrenaline was kicking through Eragon's veins at the suddenness of her proximity. He could not move, so frozen in shock that he barely noticed the gasp that tore out of his throat or the shouts of surprise from his watching audience. Vaguely, Eragon realised his eyes were embarrassingly wide and his mouth was imitating that of a fish breathing.

By the time he had shut it, she had returned to her beginning stance in front of him, and this time he had caught the edges of her movement with the corner of his eyes.

"T-The first point is received by the elf," the dwarf who was judging announced uncertainly.

Eragon blinked. As he prepared himself once more, he noted detachedly that his hands were trembling with the sudden rush of adrenaline. He glanced towards Arya to see if she had noticed, and found that their audience was watching them in heightened anticipation whereas before they had only displayed some interest.

Eragon forced himself to relax: the wrist holding his sword loosening, his heart beat slowing. Eragon's eyes met hers: blue against blue. His grin matched her smile in eagerness.

The flag hit the floor and this time, Eragon moved first.

* * *

Nasuada could hardly believe her eyes. Eragon's opponent was moving like something possessed: a sheer blur across the ground. In movement she was grace personified and Nasuada could see that Eragon was barely keeping up. His reflexes, sense of sound and smell were being sorely tested.

"The way she is continuously moving, never stopping, unrelenting. She fights like-" Nasuada murmured.

"Du Vindr. The Wind. You are most observant Lady Nasuada." Arya had leaned forward behind her to speak and Nasuada could catch a hint of amusement in her eyes at Eragon's predicament.

"The wind?"

"A name she was called amongst the warriors of Ellesméra."

Nasuada turned back to observe Eragon barely ducking a mighty swing from the she-elf.

"How appropriate," she murmured.

Nasuada hoped Eragon knew what he was getting into.

* * *

It was like no other match Eragon had ever fought before. Certainly very different to his earlier spar with Arya where they had met each other's strength, blow by blow. She was attacking with a flurry of movement from all sides. In a second she was behind him, her sword flicking in before she sped away and attacked to his left. Her blade was like a darting sparrow, flitting in and out, lightly angling Brisingr away from her body with simple twists.

Eragon's wrists were aching in the quick manoeuvres he had to make in order to prevent her weapon from touching him. His feet fumbled with none of the grace he had displayed earlier in his spar with Arya, for at least then he had known moderately where his skill lay with hers! But this – Eragon dodged another swing that would have taken off his head if her sword had not be covered for safety's sake –

This was going to challenge him.

Cling! And her sword yet again slid underneath his to turn it away, skilfully bypassing his thrust.

Eragon held in his growl of frustration. He had noted early on into this second bout, that while she held her sword with obvious proficiency, she did not match the strength in his blows. All he needed was a well-placed swing to overpower her sword's light flickers and he would have her! None the less, the way she defended herself was nothing short of infuriating. She refused to meet his sword in a match of strength, instead angling her blade by way of deflection, forcing him into uncomfortable positions and unbalanced stances.

His brow was furrowed in concentration; the sweat pouring down pass his eyes did not deter him from his focus on her sword.

And it was this extreme attentiveness to the weapon in her hand that became his downfall. If Eragon had been watching her face, he would have seen her blue eyes suddenly dance with amusement and her mouth open to whisper a spell.

"Argh!"

_Magic? _Eragon thought bewildered, as light blinded his eyes. He back-pedalled rapidly as he attempted to blink stars out of his eyes. Confusion swept through him. He had assumed this spar would be like Arya's: an impromptu show of swordsmanship and nothing else.

Then, he grimly realised that they had failed to set down any rules.

The swift hum of an incoming blade whistled through the air and Eragon swung out his sword wildly. But the elf easily dodged his blind swing and in the same movement, tripped him and tapped her sword once on his chest.

_Well then,_ he thought as he took her proffered hand, _I'll show you magic._

* * *

The she-elf could barely hold back her amusement at the Shadeslayer's plight. He was like nothing she had ever imagined. She certainly had not expected the Elven-like youth in front of her, practically radiating frustration at her parlour tricks. She realised that now she had changed the rules a little, by that show of magic. She herself was quite skilled in evasive spells; they had been very useful on her journey here. But destructive spells that surely a Rider of his tutelage would know… she smiled wickedly at the challenge it would bring.

She whispered a spell that would grant her more speed than her natural agility. Only a small light from her hands marked its existence on her skin.

She started moving before the flag reached the floor.

* * *

_Impossible!_ Eragon thought as he was startled into furious movement in an attempt to block her sword. If anything, she was moving even faster than the first match where she had easily disarmed him! Albeit, he was now prepared for her speed, but he could hardly fight back if he couldn't see her!

In the back of his mind, Eragon dimly realised she was trying to stop him from casting any spells. And she was succeeding.

He couldn't see her at all! By now, he was solely using his reflexes to block her blows, but panic tinged the edges of his movement and as a result, he reacted jerkily.

Eragon knew he could not lose this match, or the ones following it.

He shoved his panic down and tried to catch her movement in the corner of his eyes.

_Breathe Eragon, breathe _he thought as he scoured his mind for any ideas, for any spells that didn't require knowing where his opponent was. He had to sense rather than see her sword, which like her form was a pale blur – wait.

Sense, rather than see? His eyes widened at the thought and a flicker of hope formed in his chest like a little flame.

He closed his eyes, and forced his heart beat to slow, till it thudded deep within him and sounded in his ears. He was suddenly aware of his breathing, harsh and quick, it rumbled in his lungs. Eragon's senses moulded around his surroundings and the people within it. Most importantly, it enveloped his opponent. There was a slither of cloth to his right and –

There!

Without thinking, Brisingr moved to block her swing. The she-elf gasped at the quickness of his parry and watched in shock as Eragon opened his eyes. They were unfocused.

Eragon was now using sound and sense to see her.

She had barely time to blink at the ingenuity of Eragon's adaptation before he was on her. Her steps must have made more sound than she thought as she found herself changing from attacking Eragon at her own preference, to defensive stances she rarely used. Eragon's strength had never been more obvious as he rained down blows that she could barely flick away.

Taking a gamble, she leapt, attempting to escape from the tell-tale sound of her steps.

A flurry of movement sounded above him and Eragon grinned.

When she landed, ready to move once more, she found she could not do so. Her feet, she discovered with no small amount of shock, were frozen to the floor. She heaved, but they would not budge. Before she could think of a spell to release her, she felt the cold edge of Brisingr touch her throat.

Eragon's hands were still glowing from the remnants of the spell he had just cast and her eyes widened in realisation.

"Point received by Eragon Shadeslayer."

The elf thanked him as Eragon released her from his spell's hold. She marvelled at his ability to evolve and wondered how he would adapt to her next tricks. A plan was already forming in her mind.

_It's time to up the scales a little._

* * *

TSING! Her sword would have bruised his shoulder if he hadn't heard the murmur of steel in the air. But Eragon was moving with renewed confidence now, certain he had countered her impossible speed. All he had to do was rely on his senses –

Snow crunched at his back –

Behind! And Brisingr was there to parry the TSING that whistled through the air – Eragon gasped in pain and shock. He had blocked her sword; he knew that for certain for he had heard the ring of steel – _Ah!_

She had hit the same shoulder again, somehow, impossibly, she was _kicking_ his shoulder. The same shoulder that Arya had injured in his previous spar, but how had she _known?_ He had not had time to heal it –

Again, the elf, in an amazing display of flexibility had lunged with her sword to his left, and when he blocked the blow, it had forced him to expose his shoulder. Without stopping to pause, she then split her legs and pummelled her right foot into his shoulder.

Eragon cursed as pain began to throb from his injured arm and down to weaken his fingers. He had no choice but to switch Brisingr to his left hand. _At least_, he thought with a sense of déjà vu, _she hits lighter with her sword than Arya_.

Eragon's newfound optimism did not last long. It was true that her swings did not possess the strength of Arya's sword blows, but incredibly, she was now adding additional attacks to her sword. In contrast to her blade, however, her fist and feet did not shimmer in the air and thus announce itself. Nor did they possess the same tell-tale whistle of a sword swinging rapidly. At most, Eragon could make out the minimum rustle of cloth before her fist met the vulnerable parts of his body. Which there were, unfortunately, many.

But Eragon, did not let this deter him. While his left hand was not as able as his right, the blows caused by his left hand still possessed more than enough strength to overpower her, if she was somehow prevented from deflecting it. Also, there was a pattern to her movements, Eragon realised triumphantly.

She would dart in and attack with her sword, her fists or feet quickly following. Then, before he could properly counterattack, she raced around him to repeat the cycle once more –

And there!

Eragon spun to meet her sword with Brisingr, and caught her fist with his other hand. He allowed her a moment of surprise, before he twisted her arm behind her back and lifted his sword to her throat in an imitation to their first match.

"Too slow," he said teasingly, and the elf's eyes widened in recognition and then to amusement. Mentally, she berated herself for having become predictable and vowed that for the last duel she would somehow mimic his adaptability.

Eragon realised as he faced his opponent for the final time, that this match would decide the victor.

_Breathe in… breathe out._

_Go._

* * *

The audience was almost tittering with anticipation. Their eyes flickered back and forth as they followed the intense blows they exchanged. The elf moved like the wind, a tornado around Eragon who parried her sword without a fail, even blocking her unorthodox attacks. Some were vying for the unknown elf's victory, arguing that surely, her unmatched speed would best Eragon while others stood by their decision that Eragon, with his strength and adaptability, would be victorious.

But they all agreed, whoever won this match would have earned their victory well.

* * *

Eragon could feel himself tiring. While Angela's concoction had indeed refreshed him from his earlier spar with Arya, Solembum had been correct in saying that it did not make up for what a meal and a good night sleep could achieve. But he was heartened to see that his opponent was also almost at their limit –

_Thump, whoosh!_

CLANG.

Or perhaps not! Eragon's eyes widened. The elf had manoeuvred him cleverly towards the snow covered trees that surrounded the small clearing they had been fighting in. There were no rules about the size of the battle field after all.

_Thump, whoosh!_

Again, she had kicked off a tree, and using that momentum, she barrelled towards him at lightning speed.

CLANG.

Eragon gasped in pain as the elf's blow almost numbed his left arm entirely. The strength of her swing had been enhanced by her spiral off a nearby tree! As he fought to parry it Eragon realised with growing horror that she had learnt to remedy her lack of strength.

Here, amongst the trees, she was in her element.

Snow whipped around him at a frenzied speed, the rush of their fall covering the tell-tale murmur of her strikes. But he could still sense her in this disorientating tornado and it gave him determination to fight on. In a feat amazing flexibility, the elf leapt off a tree in a back flip, lifted her sword in preparation and aimed her foot at his right shoulder. Eragon barely had time to dodge her blade and leap back –

– then she slammed her fist into his wrist.

As she predicted, he dropped his sword. She did not, however, predict Eragon would crouch and sweep a leg forward to topple her. As she fell, Eragon continued his spin, using the downwards force of her blow to fuel his own momentum. His other leg followed through in a spectacular display of flexibility and agility, snapping up and colliding with her wrist with tremendous force. Her hand seared with pain, and all at once her sword was gone from her hand, spinning away from them as she released it involuntarily.

But Eragon wasn't finished.

As she fell, he pushed off her with his hands and as he finished his revolution, he snatched the spinning blade out of the air.

The elf landed on the snowy ground, and own her sword now in Eragon's hands, tapped once, lightly, on her chest.

Blazing blue eyes met icy mirrors.

Then, applause joined the sound of their ragged breathing. Eragon looked up to see their audience had followed their impromptu change of scenery. Arya was smiling slightly at him in approval. Despite the sudden feeling of exhaustion sweeping through him, Eragon's heart lightened.

He turned back to the elf on the ground and smiled at the familiar situation. The elf returned it and accepted his offered hand.

As he pulled her up, she spoke, "As I promised Shadeslayer… I will reveal my name to you. Names are like clothing; each person has many and uses them whenever they feel it appropriate. It time perhaps you will learn all of them, but for now, know that my mother named me Niduen.".

* * *

Niduen straightened herself, brushing off the snow that had stuck to her hair and tunic. She was surprised to find that her disappointment at her loss, paled significantly to the new found respect she felt for the young rider in front of her. It was not often that she lost, her style proving far too difficult to adjust to by the inflexible elves she had sparred with in Ellesméra.

But here in the Varden, she had seen hope.

There was a great deal of intelligence and ingenuity hidden behind those youthful blue eyes. Not many people would have used the ice to freeze her feet, nor would they have used a trick of her own, turning their opponents momentum against them. He had even defeated her with her own sword. No, this Eragon, as he was called, was something different entirely.

* * *

Eragon watched as the blond elf sprinted over to retrieve her fallen bundle, sliding her sword back in the sheathe on her back as she did so. He was certain that he had heard her name before when he had been in Ellesméra. Her eyes, he noticed, as Niduen turned back to face him, were surprisingly expressive for an elf. They were still challenging and teasing, but now a layer of respect for him, he assumed, was clearly visible.

Bowing slightly, she extended the wrapt bundle towards him with both her hands.

"This rightfully belongs to you now Shadeslayer, and I am your servant. The message is for you only and should be read in private. These are my queen's words."

"Thank you Niduen. That was well fought."

"And the same to you Shadeslayer."

Eragon mirrored her smile before looking around to see that Nasuada and her entourage had left with only Arya waiting behind, her emerald eyes studying him carefully. He gestured her over, nodding a greeting.

"Eragon" she said, a note of approval evident in her voice. "Nasuada asks that you take a few minutes to recuperate before we must report to her immediately. Do you require any food?"

Eragon was about you say yes, when he noticed Niduen was breathing heavily, and that Arya's cheeks seemed a touch whiter than was the norm. He quickly went over to where he had dropped his waterskins containing the lemon concoction and tossed one to Niduen. He uncorked his own, the smell of lemons and alcohol immediately pervading his senses.

"Niduen, Arya, both of you must be tired. Try that, it will help you," he said before swallowing a few mouthfuls. Immediately he was refreshed, the coolness sweeping away the fatigue.

Looking over to the elves, he saw similar reactions: Arya's pale cheeks flushing as energy spread through her tired limbs, whilst Nideun's icy eyes became visibly brighter.

"Arya, let's go. Nasuada will be waiting. Niduen…" He turned to the other elf.

"It was an honour. Hopefully we will have the chance to spar again and perhaps you can teach me a thing or two."

With that, Eragon strode away, Arya at his side.

"Eragon, what is this? I have never tasted anything like it," Arya said, shaking her half empty waterskin experimentally.

Eragon didn't stop walking, but he looked Arya straight in the eye, responding loud enough so that Niduen, who was being shown to her tent by Jarsha in the opposite direction, could hear it too.

"Urine."

He was rewarded with loud coughs and splutters from Arya beside him, and an echo from Niduen behind them. Saphira was roaring with laughter in his mind.

_One for your side, Eragon._

* * *

It did not take them long to reach the meeting tent. The Nighthawks guarding it immediately announced their presence, with Nasuada quick to respond, asking them to enter. Eragon held the flap open, motioning Arya to enter before him.

_Chivalrous, Eragon?_ Arya spoke with her mind.

_One can never be too polite._

"Ah Arya, Eragon, take a seat. Jormundur was just beginning."

Jormundur already standing, nodded to them politely before he spoke.

"As I'm sure you have noticed, there has been a significant amount of snowfall recently. However, I believe our original plans are still feasible, albeit a little slower, and perhaps with a few more risks. Naturally a strategy more suited to winter would be preferred, which is why we have come here today, to allow you to give voice to whatever ideas you may have. I myself am in favour of maintaining our original course of action."

A few voices were heard, most providing the view that they too, were satisfied with their original plans.

_Eragon!_ Arya's voice hissed in his head.

_Yes?_

_Speak!_

_Why?_

_You already have the solution to their problems. Why do you not provide it?_

_Ah, I am sure they will come up with something, just as I am sure that none of them would appreciate the musings of a younger, less experienced teenager. Just give them time._

_How much time?_

_Be patient, I am sure they will arrive at a conclusion soon._

However as time passed, fewer voices were heard and it was clear that they had come to a conclusion: the original plans were to be carried out, despite the risks.

Arya's voice once more resounded in his mind.

_Eragon, I will say this only once. Speak. For if you do not, then I will wait no longer, and repeat your words myself!_

_Go ahead. I do not like public speaking anyway._

_Very well._

All eyes were on Arya, as she explained the faults in the current plans, offered superior alternatives, and analysed how their tactics should be adjusted for winter warfare, just as Eragon had spoken to her over breakfast. As she returned to her seat, she could see that the gazes of those that only yesterday had followed her with distrust and disrespect had changed to ones of admiration and some were even apologetic. She was once more an equal in the eyes of the other leaders.

Allowing herself to relax, her mind drifted back to Saphira's words.

_These are gifts. From Eragon._

_Gifts_, she thought. _He knew I would do this. He pushed me towards this course of action. Perhaps I have thought too harshly of him._

Nasuada smiled at her appreciatively as she rose to address the gathered council. Retreating to her mind, she attempted to contact Eragon, but was surprised to find his mind nowhere near. Her eyes flew open, and sure enough, Eragon's seat was empty.

Arya sighed and returned her attention to Nasuada who was checking for any final objections. There were none, and as such they were all promptly dismissed.

She rose to leave immediately. Orrin was already at the exit, bowing humbly to her as he held the flap open, allowing her to pass first.

She set herself on a direct course to Eragon's tent.

Then, she heard the unmistakable sound of Saphira roaring in the distance.

Arya broke into a run, kicking up snow and mud as she sprinted towards the source of the noise. Unbidden, Saphira barged through her mental defences.

Arya! Her voice was full of anguish. Come fast, Eragon is in pain, but he hides in his tent and I cannot reach him from where I am.

Running full tilt, it took Arya less than a minute to reach Eragon's tent. As she stood at the entrance preparing to call out his name, she was barrelled over by the rider himself. She landed on the ground with a thud. She could hear Eragon's heavy footsteps coming to a halt nearby, followed by choking and retching. Arya began to pick herself up, but as she did so, something gleaming through the opening of his tent caught her eyes. Emerald orbs widened, and it was then that she understood the exact cause of Eragon's pain.

On the floor of Eragon's tent, lay a deadly weapon, a reminder of the cost of war and the sacrifices made. Glistening a sparkling gold in the fading light, still sheathed in all its glory was the sword of Eragon's fallen teacher – Naegling.

* * *

_So. Another chapter done. This one is actually a bit longer than normal, so I hope it doesn't bore you. This was also a pain to edit. Somehow when I uploaded it onto ffnet from my word file, all the italics got inverted. Argh pain in the place where I apparently pull my ideas out of! So yes, I dragged Yuki in here to say hi. So say hi back. Now onto some issues that need to be addressed._

_1 - For those who enjoyed that little introduction to the last chapter with the flashback, please go to "Saiyuki Tasuke"'s profile and look it up, as she has also posted it under her own name. It's titled Snow. If you really liked it, make sure you review+fave it etc. It's not fair that she does the work and no recognition goes into it, so please take the time to do so._

_2 - Regarding updates. My aim for each chapter is around every fortnight. Is this too slow for you? Granted you can't really rush proper writing, but I will admit it has been a bit slow. I take a few days off each chapter to discuss where we want this chapter to go with Yuki, before waiting a few days to think about what I write, and THEN really get into it. I hand write my bits, and then type it up. I can't speak for Yuki, but that's my process and it's a lengthy one. I type relatively quick, but even so 6k words is no mean feat. So yes, have your say on how long apart you think is reasonable for updates._

_3 - Chapter length. Now this is an interesting one. Yuki and I both agree that we prefer longer chapters. I personally feel that it is unrealistic to have short chapters (3k words per ch) and that the only thing that is achieved by doing so is more updates and more reviews. However I personally, am not a fan of sacrificing the integrity of my work to enjoy more reviews. It's just not how I do things. I feel shorter chapters break the rhythm that I set up, and seeing as I've already set a standard for approximately 6k words per ch, I am hesitant to change it. But once again, have your say. How long do you like them? I love long chapters. Not as much as I love Arya, but I do prefer longer ones._

_So R+R and give us your opinion. I can safely say that Yuki and I reach individual review several times. It really does make our day. We'll chat about it till 2am in the morning. No jokes. We LOVE reviews. I personally am planning something for the 50th. Maybe a little Q+A sesh? Well I'm getting ahead of myself. At the time of this post it'll be sitting at 29, something we're BOTH very happy with. So did you like this chapter?_

_Catch._


	5. AN  Merry Christmas Everyone!

**Hi there everyone! Quick update to wish everyone a MERRY CHRISTMAS! I know you might be a bit annoyed that this isn't an update...BUT we come bearing gifts! Firstly, we're going to reply to some of the more lengthy/interesting reviews that we've gotten starting from the very first chapter! Yes readers, we don't ignore the things you say. Quite the opposite. Yuki and I are almost always trying to assimilate your views into our writing, to create a more enjoyable and interesting reading experience. Secondly, we've thrown in a teensyweensy bit of a teaser for the next chapter. Not enough to spoil it, but hopefully enough to get some curiosity going! Thirdly we're going to give all you guys the chance to ask us some questions! That's right, anything you want to know about Yuki and/or I, Endgame anything at all! Few conditions; nothing too personal. We're not going to be giving away like... where we live, our schools etc, just for the sake of security. Also - NO SPOILERS. You can ask, and we might give a few hints about what is to come but spoilers... well they spoil it don't they? So feel free to ask, but if you ask too much we may or may not answer to your complete satisfaction. Other than that, ask away! Anything you want! Ask and you shall receive.**

**And Finally: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR! YES ITS A BIT EARLY FOR THE LATTER BUT IN CASE WE DONT SEE YOU BEFORE THEM, THERE IT IS!**

* * *

**Reviews**

Tsukune08: Haha, I think we can all agree that the Arya in "Season's Passing," was not one we're used to seeing. As for Eragon getting her back… all you have to do is read chapter 3. =)

-SeeKay

Anonymous - "Excellant chapter! It doesn't seem like Arya would be that jokey so i think you should add a little bit more seriousness to her character. but other than that, I love it! Keep it up :)":

Yeah, we know Arya was a bit out of character in the first chapter, but SeeKay just couldn't help himself (seeing as he wants an Arya for Christmas and all). We're both working on it and thanks for liking it! Though it was on no credit to my part as SeeKay wrote all of chapter 1 with me just doing the editing. xD

-Yuki

NonStickMage: Dignity? Bah who needs dignity when you've got a BAMF of a sword which fires up (literally) when you say its name. I repeat B.A.M.F!

-SeeKay

xLisaQx: Meimei 3

-SeeKay

Readbooks123: Wow, one of the best stories you've read for Eragon? That's quite a compliment. *takes a bow. As for the story not being cliché, that's all SeeKay's fault. Yep, seeing as ideas just come out of his *ahem. I don't know how he does it! Subtle humour and battle plans? Also him, and he keeps denying his brilliance. That poor deluded guy. :D

-Yuki

_(SeeKay: Oh shush you!)_

GreyFolkDescendent: Our writing captures the reader? Well on behalf of SeeKay and I, thank you! I wonder if you guys can even tell our writing apart… Heh, yes I play WoW. Probably more than I should, but NOWHERE near as much as my little brother plays (he's got so many lvl 80+ characters it's really not healthy). What's your IGN? Class? Lvl? Realm? Horde or Alliance? As for me, FORTHEHORDE! (Though I really have nothing again Allies, just started with Horde first and stuck with it).

-Yuki

FlexManSteel: Of course I'm nervous about how it's going! Why wouldn't I be? And yes! I LOVE long chapters! Totally agree with some stories going beginning, end. Definitely trying to avoid it in Endgame!

-SeeKay

InkWeaverabc: First off, thanks for taking the time to check out Endgame, especially as you first read Snow (ah yes, my shameless advertising appears to be working). Yeah, I've put a link for Endgame on my profile now. TY for clueing me in.

*nod. Despite my editing, spelling mistakes do slip in. (I'm human after all) But I do appreciate you pointing it out. Huh, I really didn't notice how many times we were using the word 'orbs' but we'll try reining it in next time. And you pretty much know what we think about the length of chapters… just try to hang in there and hopefully we'll get good enough that you don't need to take breaks next time.

Glad you liked the Elf who was running as SeeKay basically shucked it onto me to write. Though eventually he finished the end of it cause I was exhausted from writing the duel. That Angela section was all SeeKay, credits to him!

And you do know that your little idea about replying to the reviews is the reason we're doing this right (oh and the fact it's Christmas and all)? :D

-Yuki

Tsukune08 AGAIN: Wow, that's some impressive insight you got going on there. Didn't think about it that way. I gues in a way I am trying to mature Eragon in this story, but that just makes sense. War tends to mature people rapidly. And yes! As much as I don't like to admit it, BOTH Yuki and I totally forgot about his guards. Hopefully we can rectify it next chapter! Love the lengthy review though! PS: What does Ja Ne mean?

(_Yuki: Gah, you don't know what Ja Ne means? You're a shame to all anime watchers! *shakes fist_.)

_(SeeKay: Well EXCUSE ME for not really watching anime.)_

xxx: Naww, I'm blushing that you like my duels. And I'm really glad you like where we're going with the characters, especially seeing as we're trying to keeping them as in character as possible. Oh, I know _exactly_ what you mean by that. I hate finding a really good fic and then looking at the update date and finding out it hasn't been updated for a year. Yup, it's so annoying I've almost started to avoid incomplete fics.

-Yuki

Yuki: And that's it folks. Thank you so much for all the others who reviewed but we didn't reply to because there's just that many (and it's 3:59 in the morning and I really should be asleep). :D

* * *

**Teaser:**

_Greetings, Saphira Bjartskular and Eragon Shadeslayer._

_I hope that this message finds you in good health. For security reasons, certain details have deliberately been left out. Niduen has long been our most trusted messenger, and although I have absolute faith in her ability to deliver this safely, one cannot be too careful._

_Rhunön-elda_ _has informed me that you have acquired a new sword. She did not explain how __it__ was made in her forge without the breaking of her oath but she did, however, explain how you came to obtain the ore required to make it.__ It is nothing short of a miracle or perhaps some strange twist of fate that this came to be. I would, however, question your method used to obtain it._

_The Menoa Tree is a great and ancient being. She has been existing long before the age of Dragon Riders, long before immortal elves. She is the keeper of our forests and protector of all its inhabitants. I understand that it was Saphira who stripped bark from its trunk and burned it with dragon fire. But you are intertwined beings whose fates are intimately connected. We are not so arrogant as to assume that a dragon, ruler of the free skies, is bound by our customs. As such, while Saphira is exempt from our laws, this does not hold so for you, Shadeslayer._

_Lastly, it saddens me that I must pass on this item to you, for I'm sure you would never wish to see the day that such an object should belong to you. But I am sure he would have wanted you to have it, and with his passing, his title now belongs to you, and as such it is your rightful inheritance, so to speak._

_I must stress the importance of contacting me as soon as you are able to do so. There are matters of great concern that I can only speak to you of face to face. Use the same method as when you had last spoken to me. _

May the stars watch over you.

_Islanzadí Dröttning_

* * *

**PLEASE NOTE THAT THE NEXT CHAPTER IS STILL INCOMPLETE AND AS SUCH, THIS SMALL PASSAGE IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE AND MODIFICATION. WHAT YOU ARE READING HERE MAY OR MAY NOT BE EXACTLY THE SAME WHEN WE POST UP THE NEXT CHAPTER!**

** Can you guess what's going to happen? Here's a challenge, post up your predictions in a review along with any questions you have for us. If you get it right, I won't tell you, but you WILL get a small (or maybe not so small, I can't tell you can I ;)) cameo appearance in one of the future chapters.**

**Lastly a shoutout to every anonymous or signed reviewer!**

_Anonymous reviewers: monopoly king, smileyhula, xxx, V, Reader, Allysmurfy, Pompej, anonymous(1), anonymous(2), Buddy, A, ajustin5._

_Signed reviewers: Tsukune08, NonStickMage, Bookworm73, Partin, Obliterator1519, Lord Rasler, xLisaQx, Readbooks123, GreyFolkDescendant, FlexManSteel, InkWeaverabc, soccergirlmich, AllIsFairInLoveAndWar._

**To you guys, the people who have us on story alert and/or favourite stories - it's you guys that makes this story worth writing.

* * *

**

So that brings us to the end of this little update.

Wishing you a happy and joyous festive season,

SeeKay

Yuki

-Authors of Endgame '10.

* * *

_I'm still waiting on my Arya for christmas..._


	6. The Calm

**AN: We are BACK! Endgame is BACK! Aye... it has been a while, and I am certainly not happy that it took this long to get this chapter out, but you know, life comes first. Admittedly I lost motivation for a fair while... not due to any of you guys, but just... well life in general. Rest assured I will endeavor to keep this going. No teaser this time! Straight back into the story!**_  
_

**A few shoutouts before I let you go:**

**To Nicole, for showing me there is more to the world than what you can see on a computer screen.**

**To Lisa, for always believing in me.**

**And always, to Saiyuki for never thinking that this story was done, and always pushing for me to keep writing.**_  
_

**We are back guys. Lets go!**

**-SeeKay.**

* * *

__Chapter 4:

_Greetings, Saphira Bjartskular and Eragon Shadeslayer._

_Rhunön-elda_ _has informed me that you have acquired a new sword. She did not explain how Brisingr was made in her forge without the breaking of her oath but she did, however, explain how you came to obtain the ore required to make it._

_The Menoa Tree is a great and ancient being. She has been existing long before the age of Dragon Riders, long before immortal elves. She is the keeper of our forests and protector of all its inhabitants. I understand that it was Saphira who stripped bark from its trunk and burned it with dragon fire. But you are intertwined beings whose fates are intimately connected. We are not so arrogant as to assume that a dragon, ruler of the free skies, is bound by our customs. As such, while Saphira is exempt from our laws, this does not hold so for you, Shadeslayer. _

_I must stress the importance of contacting me as soon as you are able to do so. There are matters of great concern that I can only speak to you of face to face. Use the same method as when you had last spoken to me. _

May good fortune rule over you,

Peace live in your heart,

And the stars watch over you.

_Islanzadí Dröttning_

* * *

Hearing a dragon roar reverberate through and around Varden's camp was not unfamiliar to Niduen, but she could tell immediately it was not Saphira's customary expressions of exhilaration. Rather, it was enveloped in pain and tinges of frustration and it was this that sent her racing from her tent. By the time she arrived outside Eragon's tent, aided by a whispered speed enhancer, Saphira had reduced her agonised roars to pained whimpers.

"Saphira! What ails you?" Niduen asked, her eyes searching Saphira's scales for any physical disfigurements. Saphira was shuddering with some hidden pain, her wings folding in a shroud- a futile effort to protect herself. Her legs, normally pillars of strength that held her up proudly, had collapsed. Niduen placed a hesitant hand on Saphira's back, in an attempt to provide comfort. She could find no wounds and a quick skim of Saphira's mind showed no signs of mental attack. Niduen turned at the gentle brush of leather which revealed Arya exiting from Eragon's tent bearing a sword in her hands. Her face was grim as she wordlessly handed Niduen the weapon as though in explanation.

"This is…" Niduen said slowly as she drew the sword from its sheath. Its weight was disturbingly familiar to her and she realised suddenly that this was the package she had carried unknowingly across her back for a treacherous many days.

"Naegling, yes," Arya confirmed solemnly.

"Where is Eragon?" Niduen asked, instantly deducing the reason for Saphira's pain. She quickly scoured the area, her eyes lingering on the results of Eragon's retching on the ground.

"Gone."

"Then we must find him," Niduen replied at once.

Blödhgarm immediately started after him before Arya's voice halted his movement.

"Let him go. As Varden's sole Rider, he must learn to shoulder death and bear loss alone. It will strengthen him for greater falls that will undoubtedly occur. It is war after all."

Niduen paused midway in returning Naegling to its sheath and stared at Arya incomprehensibly. With a snap, that mirrored her quickly growing anger, she sheathed the weapon, opened her mouth to retort and then closed it. With narrowed eyes she closely surveyed Arya, who had uncharacteristically turned away from the scrutinising examination. Niduen had heard it, barely, the bitterness that had coloured Arya's voice. Had she been a little less close to Arya, she might have missed it. Thoughts racing, her eyes widened and then glittered with a sad understanding.

"Arya…" she said with surprising gentleness, a sharp contrast to the anger that had crossed her face just moments before.

"There once was a princess who learnt to shoulder her father's death and bear his loss alone. Her mother, though a great and powerful queen, was uncertain how best to give her comfort. The princess's dearest friend was too young, at that time, to understand. But the pain served its purpose, preparing her and giving her strength when she lost him in a war she had no control in. Isolation was far simpler and far easier. But it left her bitter and afrai-"

"Do not assume to know me Niduen!" interrupted Arya, her tone venomous. But Niduen could see there was no real strength in her voice, rather there was a vulnerable quality in it she had never heard before.

"Cousin, I may be young and inexperienced, not yet ready to be burdened with the responsibility of being the next heir… but even I can understand that, though you perhaps, had nobody to support you and be your pillar in your times of need… Eragon does have someone. A friend… is that not what you are Arya?" Niduen questioned softly.

Niduen's words left a pregnant pause in the air.

Arya began to feel not only the shame of having been so transparent to someone fifty years younger than her but also the shame of needing another to realise that the ice in her heart was tainting her thoughts.

"I… spoke without thought Niduen. Your words are mature beyond your age and it seems I have misjudged you."

It was the closest to an apology Niduen had ever received from Arya and she smiled in return.

"You will join me then, in finding Eragon?" Arya nodded in reply.

_I will go with you both_ spoke Saphira suddenly and tried to stand. _I have recovered somewhat._

"Bjartskular, rest a little longer… allow us to find him?" Arya asked soothingly, noting Saphira could not quite stand steadily, let alone fly.

"I will stay with you Saphira," Niduen stated reassuringly.

Saphira searched Arya's eyes for a long moment.

Finally, she folded her legs and rested her head against her paws.

_I will give you an hour._

* * *

Dry grass was scarce at this time in the year. Eragon had not even realised his purpose for collecting it until he had a handful from an unconscious pulling of the dead plants around him. It reminded him of a time Roran and he had thrown grass at each other in an attempt to make the other extremely itchy. Eragon gave a rue smile as he remembered how that little scenario ended. They had both received rashes and a scolding from Garrow.

The memory of a tiny grass boat sailed across his mind and his fingers began to move. Albeit, much clumsier than Arya's practised nimble fingers, but just as eagerly. He thought perhaps that the complexities of folding dry grass could distract him temporarily from his pain. If he wasn't feeling so numb, he might have noticed the sharp prickles of pain from the slender points of the grass and emerald eyes watching him.

He did not know how much time had passed before he was finished. The result of his fumblings was sitting in his hands and it did little to give him satisfaction.

"A bird?"

Eragon looked up from where he was sitting with his back to a tree.

"How long have you been there Arya?" he asked tiredly, not meeting her watchful eyes.

"Long enough to realise your mind was quite far away from here."

Wordlessly he edged to the side to make room for her. She moved to sit next to him and there they sat together for a long while, a strange pair pondering pain and their world. It was with some bitterness that Eragon realised there could not be a world without pain. Pain and sorrow was necessary for comfort and happiness to exist. No sentient being could hope to experience love if hate did not thrive at the opposite end of the spectrum to contrast it.

"Flauga," Arya spoke abruptly.

"Fly?" Eragon translated in confusion.

Arya gestured to the roughly crafted grass bird. "The spell of animation. Flauga."

"Ah."

A long silence.

"Would you like me to-" she offered quietly.

"No! I mean, no. Let me try…"

Turning the Ancient words he knew over in his mind, he selected a few choice words and repeated it in his mind until he was satisfied. He then held a hand over the grass bird, narrowed his eyes in concentration and chanted a spell.

"Taka thornessa líf eom flauga!"

An unexpected warmth rushed through him and the grass bird promptly burst into flames, just as a rush of his energy drained from his body. With a cry of alarm, Eragon attempted to snuff the flames out with his hands. He was brimming with disappointment; another failure that this time, Arya had witnessed personally.

"No stop," Arya cried, her hand impeding him, "Look Eragon!"

He dropped the bird, but instead of falling limply to the ground in ashes, it hovered, still flaming at face level.

"It… does not burn," said Eragon wonderingly as the fiery grass bird flitted around them playfully.

"Taka thornessa líf eom flauga. Give this life to fly. You have created a phoenix Eragon. Phoenixes represent the sun, mystical rebirth, resurrection and immortality. Phoenixes are said to rise from their own ashes to live again, greater and more powerful. The very essence of fire," she said, smiling at him.

"How is it that the fire fuels itself?" Eragon asked curiously, "And more importantly, why fire? Your grass boat was as green and as lush as Ellesméra's trees itself."

"I can only speculate why it ignited," began Arya, "Perhaps it is because we breathe life into what we create. When we craft something we give a fraction of our very essence. Your sword's namesake suits you well Eragon, as fire always seems to be the core of your very being. You give life through fire and maybe that is why your bird was born in flames."

Instead of improving his mood as Arya had hoped, her words made Eragon's face darken with despair.

"Giving life, it seems so easy. If only it was as simple to restore the death" he retorted with increasing anguish. Arya could only watch helplessly as he placed his head into his hands.

"Oromis and Glaedr understood the consequences of their actions. They knew the risks they were taking, they knew the stakes. Their decision to fight was their own."

Eragon's bitter laugh startled Arya not because it was so sudden, but because it was so out of character.

"Do you remember Arya, of the last time we spoke like this? I had complained, mindlessly, that Galbatorix's ignorance of Oromis and Glaedr was hardly an advantage if they continued to hide in Ellesméra. Oh, I was such a child!" he snorted, the torment he felt laced into every word.

Arya's slender wrist snaked out to grab his gently. "I'm sure if we could talk to your ebrithil now, he would tell you he does not regret his actions. Oromis was wiser than that Eragon. He had his reasons and we would be well advised to take note of them."

"Do you think I do not understand that?" he hissed, "But how much more of my family must I sacrifice to this war?"

Arya paused in light of this revelation.

"He was a father to you then…?" she ventured carefully.

Eragon sighed as though it exhausted him to admit it.

"First Garrow. Then Brom and Oromis…! How many more Arya?" he asked in a haunted whisper.

A flitting thought crossed Arya's mind and she wondered if he also considered Murtagh to be among those he had lost. Eragon turned his face to look at her and Arya almost shuddered at what she saw. Eragon's eyes had always been very expressive to her, but now they were deadened and shadowed; a mere shade of his usual bright blue.

"Only Roran is left. My sole family. I cannot lose my only brother Arya… though I cannot expect you to understand how it might feel to lose a brother."

The bitterness had returned, unbidden, to his voice.

"Oh but I do Eragon," she said before she could stop herself.

Something stirred slowly underneath the maelstrom of pain and anger in Eragon's heart. A dangerous hope which was tempered by his own disgust and shame for feeling such a useless emotion. Arya could only watch with regret and some relief as his eyes widened in realisation. She was too late to take back her words.

Eragon could hardly control the directions that his thoughts were spiralling in! Could it be that the one she considered a brother and not a lover... the one that she had lost was...

"Fäolin?" he asked quietly, his eyes becoming hawk-like as he searched her face for answers. But Arya had closed her eyes and become a blank mask once more. Though Eragon soon realised she had not completely masked herself from him. Her hand was still on his wrist, gently moving a thumb across it in an unconscious gesture of comfort. A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips and his heart felt lighter.

_Alright, an hour's up!_

Eragon looked up to see Saphira who hovered above them. He stood, pulling Arya with him as he did so.

_Are you alright, little one? _She asked as she landed.

Eragon stopped to consider this seriously.

_I… think I am Saphira _replied Eragon lightly as he squeezed Arya's hand once before letting go. Arya quirked her lips in return to his slight smile before looking to Saphira.

"Bjartskular, I give you my thanks for allowing me to find Eragon on my own," Arya said formally to Eragon's surprise. Saphira dipped her head slightly in return.

_Let us return then. Niduen is waiting for us._

One thing however was prominent in Eragon's mind on their ride back to his tent.

Arya had not denied it.

* * *

"_Draumr Kopa"_

The mirror's surface rippled and swirled as Eragon spoke the words of the ancient language. Whilst typically scrying was a unidirectional spell –only allowing the caster to view those being scryed, the mirror was enchanted to allow communication between it and its twin.

To his surprise, it was none other than the Elven queen herself who appeared in the reflective surface. Ordinarily a servant or one of the lords who served the palace would respond, and then notify the queen. Just like her daughter, Islanzadí's face was devoid of any impatience or anger that she may or may not have felt. That familiar blank mask, gave little away.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin." Eragon spoke first, greeting her in the manner of the elves.

Islanzadí completed the greeting before quickly waving away Eragon's attempt to complete the formality.

"Shadeslayer, another time perhaps I would appreciate your efforts to adhere to our formal greetings, but in times such as these, perhaps we can put them aside for now."

"Of course, your majesty. What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

"I take it that my messenger arrived safely then?"

"Not even a scratch. A remarkable effort considering the paths she travelled and the dangers that accompany them."

"I send only the best Shadeslayer. Nonetheless it is good to know she is safe. May I assume you have received the package I sent you?"

"Yes."

"Oromis, as you know preferred a life of solitude. Normally, his sword would be either given to his family or a close relative, but during the fall of the Riders, most of the riders that stood against Galbatorix had their families hunted down. Unfortunately his family was no exception. Therefore as is proper, this sword now belongs to you as you are, with the passing of Oromis, the head rider and his senior pupil."

"That however, is not the reason I have asked you to contact me. This regards your sword, Brisingr."

Eragon inwardly flinched at the Queen's tone. Her voice was no longer emotionless but laced with a coldness and disapproval that chilled him to the bone.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Perhaps a month or two ago, he would have stumbled on his words: stuttered and started. But now, a tired and aged -albeit only slightly- Eragon stared unflustered, meeting the Queen's eyes without hesitation.

"I did what was necessary to better our chances against the Empire and Galbatorix. Had there been any other solution, then I would have taken it without a second thought, but as this appeared to be the correct course of action, I chose to follow my instincts. It was indeed Saphira who attacked the Menoa Tree, but it was I who did less than I could have, to stop her."

Once again, there was hint of a reaction on Islanzadí's face. Her eyes betrayed nothing; her lips were motionless as she pondered his words. Neither of them even blinked.

"I commend you for having the courage to standing by your actions." Were the words she spoke, followed by a pause. "But that does not excuse them."

"Your highness?"

"The Menoa tree is nature herself. Her roots, her spirit, are connecting with every natural, living object in our realm. A scratch to the tree, is a scratch on nature itself. When the Menoa tree is troubled, so is every blade of grass, every bird that flies, and every river that flows.

"I can understand why you thought your actions were appropriate, but that does not mean your actions did not have consequences. It has been weeks since the sparrows have sung their songs, the leaves have dropped from the trees early, and even the winter frosts are more bitter than what is the norm."

"I apologize if you feel these are what have resulted from my actions, but I stand by what I did."

"So be it Shadeslayer. However, know this. The elves, myself included, are not happy with what you have done. We will continue to support you in this war, because it is the right thing to do, and I believe that you are our greatest hope to defeat Galbatorix. The mourning sage spoke highly of you, and to go back on our word now would be a discredit to his memory. There will be further consequences for your actions, but that will be decided at a more appropriate time."

"If that is your decision, your highness, I can only accept it. Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

The latter question was more out of formality than anything else, but once again Queen Islanzadí surprised him.

"How is Arya?"

"Arya?"

"My daughter, Shadeslayer."

"Ah- from what I know she is well."

"From what you know?" The queen's tone was as frosty as the winters of hell itself.

Eragon considered his next words carefully. Whilst it was clear there was little he could do or say to gain any sort of positive response from the Elven queen, there was still much that could be lost should he mirror Islanzadí's hostility. Doubtlessly, the support of the elves was crucial to the Varden's success. He was mostly certain that this was a personal matter between him and the Elves, but none the less he was not willing to gamble the lives of human, dwarven and urgal soldiers on his own need to save face.

The truth as it was; was that Arya still remained very much an enigma to Eragon. Whilst, out all of her companions, he was the one that spent the most time with her, he knew little of her wellbeing save from physical health. Idly he noted that he should strive to take a greater interest in the future.

"I cannot watch over her at all times, your Majesty." A faint smile passed over Eragon's face. "And I fear for the person that attempts such a feat. Your daughter has slain a shade your majesty, I do not doubt that she can take care of herself."

For a split second, a hint of surprise slipped into Islanzadí's regal features. It was barely noticeable, only a slight widening of the eyes and a coincidental blink giving it away. Her tone of voice, however, did not change.

"And when was this Eragon?"

"During final stages of the siege of Feinster."

"Please tell her I would like to speak to her as soon as possible."

"Of course your Majesty."

* * *

Islanzadí studied the mirror that reflected not her own image, but that of the young rider many miles away. As always, she was careful to keep her features stoic, and her voice devoid of emotion.

"Argetlam, there is one more matter that remains to be addressed. Fear not, I will not delay your rest for much longer."

The image of Eragon nodded for her to continue.

"It is… tradition for the head rider to be present at any rider's funeral. Understandably these are difficult times, however I-"

"When?" Eragon interrupted, feeling the weight of Oromis's death bearing heavily upon him once again.

"Two days. As the sun fades from its perch in the sky."

Islanzadí caught a glimpse of sorrow in Eragon's eyes, and felt with equal sadness, that this war had aged them irrevocably.

"I will be there."

* * *

"Ah'll tell ye wot Marcus."

"Wot is it Bardo?"

"Ah'm gettin' a little bi' sick of this runnin' around ye know wot ah mean?"

"Ye mate, ah'd kill for just a spot o' mead and good night's rest aye?"

"Ah hear ye, but there ain't none o' that for folks like us, nay."

"Jus' one night, mate, that's all I want. Jus' one night where ah can remember ah've still got a name, 'n ah'm not jus' a bloody soldier."

"Ah hear ye, ah hear ye. Hush now, can't have the gen'ral thinkin' we've gone soft."

"Och, here 'e comes now. Look busy, quick smart!"

* * *

"Roran Stronghammer to see you Lady Nasuada."

There was a pause from inside the tent, then...

"Send him in."

Nasuada's guards parted to allow him passage. Roran slipped inside the tent, crouching on one knee.

"My lady."

If anything, Nasuada looked mildly amused at his formality.

"What's this? Courtesy? My, my, this must be something serious. Take a seat Stronghammer, there's no need for that when there's no one else around."

Roran stood, sparing a crooked grin and said, "Thank you my Lady. You're right of course. It is serious, but I'm hoping it will not be so."

"Oh? Please explain."

"I am weary from this war and it is not nearly half finished. Though I am certain your burden is infinitely greater than mine, I cannot vouch for you whereas I can definitely vouch for my soldiers. And no, they have not put me up to this, rather, I had heard in passing some of my soldiers succumbing to exhaustion and not a small dose of nostalgia. As a result, I'd like to organise some sort of night off for the soldiers... rather a party of sorts."

Nasuada's eyebrows furrowed at that. Not in annoyance but rather in one of her typical expressions of interest.

"Now is not the time to be complacent, Stronghammer. We cannot have our soldiers staggering around, singing and dancing when the enemy strikes."

"Agreed. But tired and stressed soldiers are no good for anything but target practice for enemy archers. From experience, there is often a lull in battle after a successful siege such as ours. Normally this time would be well spent in taverns or brothels; surely we can use this opportunity to promote unity and kinship amongst the races. One can be happy and gay without being intoxicated."

"May I ask? Why do you bring this up now?" She said.

Roran briefly mentioned the conversation he had overheard. He outlined his thoughts and plans for the evening, watching Nasuada's face as he did so, looking for any change in her expression. There was none.

Silence enveloped the pair as Nasuada remained motionless, as she careful considered his words. Finally she nodded.

"So be it, Stronghammer."

* * *

_Why is there all this blasted noise? _Eragon grumbled to Saphira as he woke from a quick nap. _How am I meant to rest with all the yelling and laughing?_

Before she could form an answer, a blur of blonde and the scent of autumn swept into his tent.

"Eragon! Come! Nasuada is throwing a party!"

With that, Niduen grabbed his hand and began dragging the startled rider towards the tent opening in nothing but his breeches.

"Niduen..." he tried to gently pry him off his arm, but like her swordsmanship abilities, her strength was surprising and not to be underestimated. And when had she begun to treat him so familiarly?

"No objections, tonight is a night to dance, sing, relax and share stories," she cried gaily, laughter permeating her voice.

"Niduen," he tried once, firmly.

"Do you dance Eragon? Oh how wonderful it will be to hear the tales of old over a pint of mead."

He wondered if this incessant stubbornness was why Arya had never mentioned Niduen to him before.

"Niduen!"

Saphira, traitor that she was, had turned tail and left Eragon to his fate, giggling all the while.

"And the fire Eragon! Ahhh the warmth, it chases away the winter chill."

"_Niduen!"_

Finally, she relented and Eragon took the opportunity to snatch his hand back.

"My lord?" She smiled as though oblivious to his glare. "Oh, Eragon, why are you not dressed?" she asked as though she had just noticed, "You must put some clothes on! We cannot have our master rider catching a cold. Hurry! I will meet you there."

Eragon huffed, knowing there was no way he could dissuade and he was beginning to grow curious about the 'party' Nasuada was supposedly throwing. He turned around to return to his tent, and retrieve his clothing. As he did so, Niduen gave him a slight push from behind; just a friendly, gentle, Elven-strength enhanced nudge. The combination of the slippery grass and his lack of footwear did not do his sense of balance any favours and he found himself once again face down in the mud. Spitting and cursing, Eragon muttered a quick spell to dispel the dirt from his skin and whipped himself around to face her. Niduen, however, was long gone, her musical laugh ringing in his ears as she faded into the night.

* * *

It was a good while later that Eragon finally found his companions sitting around a smaller fire conversing merrily sipping varying types of beverages.

His presence did not go unnoticed by Orik who immediately beckoned him over to sit by him. Eragon hesitantly glanced at the empty space beside Arya, but was immediately hauled down onto a log by Orik and handed a mug of mead.

"Eragon! We are sharing riddles and as you have only just arrived, you must share one with us! If we give the correct answer, you must down your drink, but if someone answers incorrectly, they must drink theirs, and if no one does... all but the riddler must drink!"

"Are you sure of your wager Orik? From what I can see, you have not been very successful."

Orik hiccupped in response. "Ah, tis part of the fun Eragon! Dwarves –hic- may not be good at riddles, but I've never had any problem –hic- getting drunk!"

Eragon gazed deeply into the dancing flames, trying to remember one of the many riddles that Saphira had asked him during their flights together. Watching the flakes of ash being spat out of the fire, he finally remembered one.

"What is black when you get it, red when you use it, and white when you are through with it?"

Silence greeted his words. Eagerly Eragon looked around at the sea of empty of expressions. Just as he was about to announce the answer, he was interrupted.

"Charcoal."

The same ice blue eyes that had watched him fall to the dirt once again met his with the same mischief as before.

He winced as Orik pounded his back again.

"Drink!"

Was it just his imagination or did his mug seem larger than normal?

Eragon didn't have time to speculate, as the next person began to speak their riddle. The more he drank, the more his inhibitions faded away. He found himself watching Arya, who returned his gaze with a contemplative expression on her face. If it weren't for the hot ale coursing through his system, he would have seen a sliver of affection that crossed her eyes.

His worries seemed to slip away, as easy as the morning creeping upon them.

* * *

The pounding in Eragon's head did not relent despite the peaceful flying on Saphira's back. He had hoped floating aimlessly with the wind at his face would bring him enough contentment to ignore the headache that threatened to split his skull.

_Urgghhhh _he groaned, much to Saphira's amusement. She of course, had suffered no effects from the copious amount of mead she had consumed. It seems she had learnt from the last Dwarf feast they had attended.

_You, go away. _

_That's a bit difficult at the moment, considering you are on _my_ back._

Eragon opted to ignore her.

He had been flying for quite awhile before he heard something that did not belong. At first, he thought the sound was the whistling of the wind passing his ears. Saphira, sharing his confusion, swooped down closer to the snow wreathed trees near the Varden's encampment. The wind that breezed pass carried a high pitched keening noise to his ears. It mirrored the gentle tinkle of a bell: a multitude of wind-chimes dancing in a fierce breeze.

_Eragon, someone is singing!_

Eragon's eyes widened as he began to recognize the unearthly beauty of the voice that pulled him into faded memories of Ellesméra. Saphira landed in a clearing large enough to hold her and he swiftly slipped off her back, eager to find the source of the strange melody. He held one thing in absolute certainty: it was not Arya, whose voice sometimes edged unbidden into his dreams.

Niduen was kneeling against the roots of a large tree, its branches swaying lightly to the tempo of her singing. Her voice was saturated with magic and he could feel it permeating the air like honey. As he watched her, she turned to smile at him, still singing with one hand spread up against the bark like a crouching spider. Turning back to the tree once more, she placed both hands onto its trunk, and closed her eyes. Her voice was increasing in volume.

A rustle behind him revealed Arya who had undoubtedly been drawn by the familiar song. She moved to stand beside him and together, along with Saphira who had managed to fit her head through the gap of two trees, they watched the singing elf.

Eragon then witnessed something he had known and heard of but never seen.

_She is singing something from the tree! _Saphira exclaimed in excitement.

He stared in amazement as an object began to form from the tree's branches, weaving together into a slender shape. It was a long piece of wood, with sap-like substances running along one side. Even as he watched, the substance that clung to the ends of the wood dried and formed individual strands like thin strings. Completed, the object fell into Niduen's hands and she began to sing with renewed intensity, notes soaring higher and stronger into existence. Again, the branches twisted, but this time thicker ones that hollowed, into an oval-like shape which then thinned at its middle. As a long branch began to protrude from it, Eragon began to recall the memory of an instrument he had once heard during a festival in Carvahall.

Niduen held the violin-like instrument and its bow in her hands like she would a child: something precious and full of potential. Comparing the instrument to his memory Eragon could see that it was not quite the same: the Elven counterpart had more strings and consequently a thicker bow. In her pure bell-like voice, Niduen sang her gratitude to the tree which had returned to its former state.

_Will you play for us Niduen? _Asked Saphira.

Niduen laughed and shook her head, "Not I, Queen of the skies."

Then, to Eragon's surprise, Niduen offered the musical instrument to Arya who looked at her as though she was offering a snake.

"I'm afraid I have not played in too long Niduen. I would not subject you both to my unpracticed attempt."

Niduen's smile grew mischievous as she replied, "Dear cousin, it would bring us great joy to hear you play. Especially as I have not heard the sound of your music for too long a time. Your fingers grow calloused and scarred from war and perhaps it is time they touched something that creates rather than destroys. Besides, the Elven memory rarely forgets."

Briefly, Eragon wondered about Niduen's familiar referral to Arya as a cousin before he returned to the amusing conversation before him.

Niduen's playful expression promised she would not relent and rather than continue to argue, Arya sighed and took the pseudo-violin and bow in her hands. She glanced at Eragon who, to Niduen's amusement, hastily hid his excited expression. With a hint of exasperation, Arya placed her head gently against the slightly raised platform on the pseudo-violin's surface made exactly for that purpose, and lifted her bow to rest delicately on its strings.

Eragon waited with a thrill of anticipation. He had known that Elves possessed great musical talent but he had never included Arya in this reckoning. Carefully, as though the wooden instrument would break from her ministrations, she slid the bow across the first string.

The high pure note rang across the silent clearing and a touch of magic and something else filled the air. The tingling that ran up through the veins of his arms to his shoulders and back down to his feet, started at his fingertips. Each note was stretched out slowly and languidly as though they were afraid to be heard and of what they could reveal.

Eragon could feel Saphira in the back of his mind, listening with shared awe; eyes closed as though she could feel sound and track its echoes. The music wrenched something, irrevocably lost, in his heart because they sounded like tears falling. It was as though all the emotion Arya had always locked away, the key lost, perhaps broken, was laid bare in this haunting song. Here, in this secluded place, with a childhood friend, a noble dragon and someone that had somehow burrowed close to her heart, Arya could feel.

As her nimble fingers raced across the strings in a series of light trills, she mourned for her father's death, her lost memories and her mother's growing coldness. She mourned for Fäolin's pain, her own at the hands of the Shade and Elva who would never stop feeling it. She mourned for Oromis and Glaedr, and the loss of hope their deaths brought. But most of all, she mourned for the many lost, and those who will undoubtedly follow.

Eragon could see behind his mind's eye a house burning, a scar that stretched across a back and a stone grave. He remembered spending a night under Saphira's wing with an incurable agony in his chest, the hollowness in Roran's eyes and a broken fairth. He remembered haunted violet eyes under the gleam of a dragon's mark and the swift departure of a crimson dragon. Everything that had ever brought him sorrow was surfacing rapidly at the intensity of Arya's remembrance.

The gentle pitter patter of something falling reached Eragon's ears. He lifted a shaking hand to his cheek and found that it was wet. For the first time in an age, he felt human. The sorrow in Arya's music was overwhelming, so strong he was swaying on his feet, wishing he could soothe her. Barely noticing what he was doing, Eragon opened his mind and let his shields drop from existence. From somewhere inside him, near where Saphira's consciousness settled, he pulled out hope and edged carefully into Arya's mind.

He was almost overcome by the maelstrom of emotions within her but gently, as though he were soothing a frightened kitten, he let his mind emanate with his hope for victory, for life and faintly, a dangerous hope for something between them.

Eragon's calming presence was like a sentinel of light in the dark recesses of Arya's mind. Fuelled by Eragon's hope for the future, the agony radiating from her song dimmed and faded. Her furious movements across the strings slowed, returning to long pure notes that rang into the sky, soaring as though in flight.

Wonder filled Eragon and he pondered how it was possible that music could make him feel as though he was on Saphira's back, reaching for stars he could never touch. How could music lift a heart so completely? Arya's melody had changed, impossibly charged with hope for the future despite the grim awareness of sorrow ahead.

_But nothing is without difficulty_, Eragon contemplates with sudden philosophy. _Life simply does not exist like in fairy tales. It is, however, moments like this that make existence worth fighting for._

Eyes closed, Eragon felt rather than saw the silent pads of feet nearing their little clearing. The echo of Arya's instrument had grown with volume, reaching even the heart of the Varden. They floated in like apparitions following the sound of the pied piper, with ghost-like footsteps as though afraid to disturb the harmony that pulled them to Arya's song. Men, women, children, werecats, Elves, Dwarves, warriors and sorcerers alike, even kings and hardened leaders were enchanted by this hope. _This_, was the entire embodiment of hope left to fight against the Empire.

It was with sorrow, Eragon felt as Arya's song concluded, that the hope would be dimmed. But as the last note faded, Eragon's eyes opened to the sound of cheering, the approving roar of a dragon joining them. For the first time in his life, Eragon saw Arya glowing at their audience's awe and he could not help but return Roran's wicked grin and Nasuada's smile.

_Yes, _Eragon thinks as his heart fills with protectiveness for this hope, _this is definitely worth fighting for._

Saphira roars in whole-hearted agreement and this time, the Varden joins her.

* * *

The city still held traces of beauty.

_Albeit_, he thinks bitterly, _a_ _beauty marred by the tragedy that had befallen it._

The keening of multiple voices neither agreed nor disagreed with him. The Eldunarya that made their home in his mind were privy to his most private of thoughts. He abhorred their presence there where he had sought to protect above all else, but they had given him almost unimaginable power. They were necessary.

As the man stared into the sky from the roof of Castle Ilirea, he wonders detachedly, about the fragility of the buildings that spiral into the air like cones of glass. But its foundation was built from stone and it remained resilient, as he too must be, in the helpless situation he found himself in.

_Names, _he considered as he stared mindlessly forwards, _are funny things. A simple combination of words that hold little meaning if said separately, while together they manage to encompass your entire existence. They are the essence of an identity, etched into a being and shared by no other. So carved within a person's soul, it is almost impossible to erase and re-sculpt._

_Almost._

From where he sat at the edge of the black citadel, he could see the kaleidoscope of light that refracted off its edges. It burned his eyes. As though this thought had power to remedy his dilemma, a great shadow passed over his eyes. Its owner landed next to him with a thump that likely would have been felt by even the prisoners who resided in the castle's dungeons.

And there they sat, this strange conjunction of souls: man and dragon, peering out into a city that could not save them. They did not speak, for words were unneeded. They had come beyond the point where words would have once been a comfort and made a difference. They were, after all, puppets on a grand stage, moving only on the whim of their master.

An unpleasant presence edged Murtagh out of his dark thoughts and he stood to face the black eyes of the one man he truly hated. For him to have sought him out personally did not bode well for Galbatorix's enemies. This could only mean that Murtagh would once again head out on Thorn to battle once more.

"Ah, Murtagh, Thorn. I trust you are well?"

His voice was deceptively pleasant, warring with the insanity that no doubt lay behind his eyes. Today, he was in a good mood but neither Thorn nor Murtagh was fooled. They had, after all, witnessed how easily Galbatorix's manner could change. In an instant his charismatic façade could be transformed into an expression of twisted, mindless fury. Such fury had cost the lives of five servants who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was why Murtagh met those misleadingly warm eyes with his own. Not because he desired to be foolishly defiant against the most powerful man in Alagaësia but because he was watching for the flicker of warning which was all he would receive before he would be subjected to Galbatorix's insane rage.

Galbatorix had not been waiting for an answer and he continued onwards, undeterred by Murtagh's silence.

"My soldiers will be moving to Belatona where they will no doubt march forward to meet the Varden's army. I want you to _capture_ Eragon along with his dragon. Bring them both back to me, _alive._"

For a moment, Galbatorix's eyes flashed, and his overwhelming power permeated the air and blocked his lungs – he couldn't breathe –

But it was gone before he could begin to struggle properly. Galbatorix's black eyes merely watched him unconcernedly.

"Unfortunately, this unexpected snowfall means my army will not arrive in time to secure Belatona. But I am certain that its citizens will be more than eager to defend their beloved city," Galbatorix continued as though he had not paused.

Murtagh's eyes narrowed and Galbatorix could see that he understood. Belatona was renowned for its skilled craftsmen and while in these particular times all the Empire's cities possessed a garrison of militia, the men who made up this force were primarily blacksmiths, carpenters and leather workers! They would be no match for Nasuada's army of trained and battle-hardened warriors let alone a dragon rider of Eragon's calibre. They would only serve to wear him down a little, if at all, before Murtagh could arrive to battle him once more.

_But of course, _he thinks viciously, _they are merely pawns for you to use and sacrifice. Like I am to you._

These thoughts must have been visible in Murtagh's eyes because Galbatorix smiled unpleasantly, and spoke three words in the ancient language. Almost at once, Murtagh stiffened and would have fallen if Thorn had not swung his tail in a crimson arch forward to catch him. Galbatorix had infused the words with his unrelenting power and its pressure was suffocating him. For the second time within minutes, breath escaped him. Dimly, as he fought to regain control of his body, he could hear Thorn growling at Galbatorix.

"You would do well to _obey_ Murtagh Morzansson. Your role at my side will play a great part in restoring order."

_My name and Thorn's… it must change, and soon!_

Murtagh allowed the thought to flitter across his mind before he seized it and buried it under multiple, heavily fortified shields. But even these would not stop Galbatorix from easily delving into his thoughts if he chose to do so. Luckily, Murtagh's struggle appeared to satisfy him.

Gasping for breath, Murtagh placed a hand on Thorn's tail to steady himself and suppressed the sudden suicidal urge to express his thoughts on his true role as Galbatorix's puppet and pawn. While Murtagh could see the worth in Galbatorix's vision of utopia: the unification of Alagaësia under a single banner, the restoration of the Riders and the elimination of war, the cost was too great.

Murtagh had never been a supporter of unnecessary deaths. Particularly deaths that he and Thorn would be forced against their will, to cause.

_We are all pawns on your monumental chessboard. To you, the deaths of innocents are dismissible. Just a game._

It was unfortunate, then, that their puppeteer was immortal.

The game would never end.

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